La Chat Noire
by eenchilada98
Summary: After being chased for days, she finally ends her torment in the Ville d'Amour; Paris, France. Yet when she ends it, a new challenge she cannot escape arises. She turns to flee and finds herself being aided by an elusive man living under the city. Hunted by the gens d'armes, she has no choice but to rely on the reluctant host to help her. Erik/OC; Pre/During Christine
1. Pursue and Destroy

_**Disclaimer:** __Unfortunately, as much as I would like to, I own nothing about Paris or l'Opera Populaire, or le Phantome d'Opera. All that I own is my main character and any characters associated with her. _

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_Alright, this is the first chapter of my Phantom of the Opera fanfiction. It starts quickly, so hold onto your hats. The beginning is a bumpy ride! _

_In case you wonder at some point in the story; yes, I speak, write, and read French, so there is a chance that a good many terms will be in 'la langue d'amour.' Since I know going to a translator for anything while reading a story is hell, I'll put a translation in parentheses after any terms that aren't immediately obvious. _

_The dialogue will all be in English to make things simpler to read, but it will specify whether the characters are speaking in English or French. While speaking in each language, some words will be 'specifique pour le langue ils parlent (specific for the language they speak).'_

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**Chapter One: Pursue and Destroy**

Her feet made no sound as she raced along the Parisian streets, darting in and out of alleyways, trying to lose her pursuer. Was it really necessary for him to follow her all the way to France? She'd tried time and time again to lose him, throw him off her scent. Alas, each and every time she'd thought she'd finally outsmarted him, he came to meet her at her destination and the chase began anew. It was as if she was allowed no rest. Of course, this made perfect sense to her. He was the deadliest of her colleagues – for the simple reason that he chased his quarries until they became too fatigued to fight, then took their lives in whatever way he deemed fitting. Which meant that she'd most likely die in the way that his unfortunate servant had. It was truly the servant's fault for upsetting her, he should have known better. Besides, he probably needed a better serving boy than that one, anyway.

It was as if she could feel his eyes boring a hole in the back of her skull. She shook off her discomfort and focused on her escape. A huge building loomed in the distance, and she recognized it from pictures – _l'Opera Populaire_. She'd always wanted to go there, but with her busy and demanding life, had never found the time. _What better time than the present? _She smirked at her own idea. The pace of her feet increased as the rain began falling around her, causing her feet to make small splashing noises as she ran. _Cursed rain! _This was going to make her escape far more difficult – it was easier to catch a target you could hear as opposed to one as silent as the night surrounding them.

As they neared the building, she feinted running for the doors, only to run for the side of the building instead. All buildings have a back entrance, right? Her speed made her able to lose him for just a moment before she heard his heavy steps echoing in the alley behind her. A quick turn of the corner and her escape route lay before her – not the back door; that would be too easy. No, she was aiming for the small gate next to it that she knew must lead to the _Populaire_'s underground lake. It was well-known for that lake, she'd heard it talked of often. It supposedly supplied all of the opera house's running water, and she had to admit that it was a brilliant plan, unlike anything else in Paris. She liked it even more because she knew it could hide her for a while. At least, she hoped it could.

The gate opened without a sound, much to her surprise. For a gate that she thought would be little-used, it was certainly well oiled. Her feet crunched on the sand as she neared the lake, hearing the steps of the man behind her echo around the corridor. They sounded far nearer than they should have been. Suddenly, someone tugged on her arm and she found herself face to face with the one she'd been running from.

"Caught you, ya lil' wench," he growled, and she writhed in his grasp.

"Let me go, you fool!" she demanded in flawless English.

His breath reeked with the stench of alcohol and tobacco – a deadly combination. It meant that she'd put up a good chase, for which she was undeniably proud of herself, but that he was not only experiencing the temporary high of tobacco but the loss of inhibitions attributed to alcohol as well, increasing his rage to a frightening level. She'd always avoided those substances, for the simple reason that she didn't want to lose control of herself like he had done. This did not bode well for her if she lost her senses and allowed him to get the better of her. But she wouldn't make that mistake. He may have the brute strength of an ox and the nose of a bloodhound, but he lacked the agility and speed that she was quite well known for. This could, if used correctly, give her a potent advantage.

"I'm gonna flay ye alive, girl," he sneered.

A dangerous smile spread across her lips. "Are you? Because I believe we are of a differing opinion about that."

She pulled one of the knives from the pocket of her trousers and stabbed him quickly in the gut with it, causing him to release her with one hand. It wasn't a bad enough wound to kill him, but enough to temporarily distract him so she could tear herself free from the grasp of his other hand. In two quick steps, she was at least a yard and a half away from him – just out of arms' reach. Enraged, the beastly man lunged at her, but she swiftly sidestepped and he punched the air where she had been standing. A low, inhumane growl came from his throat as he spun to look at her, eyes narrowed in his anger.

A wicked smirk that more resembled a grimace marred his usually tolerable features. "Come 'ere, kitty cat," he jested, but she simply shook her head slowly, the smile seeming to stay fixed upon her face.

His smirk became a face that looked as if he'd eaten an entire grapefruit and then washed it down with lemons. It took all the self-control she had not to laugh. Instead, she kept her face perfectly calm excepting for the smile that she always used when confronting her victims. The man charged at her again, only for her to duck under his arms at the last minute and slam the hilt of her blade into the back of his neck. He fell on his face and her smile grew. _Looks like he's not going to be so hard to kill after all. _She knelt on his back and leaned down, placing her lips right next to his ear.

"Who's going to flay who now?" she whispered in a low, almost seductive voice.

"Ge'off!" he exclaimed, his hands reaching behind him to grab her.

She cocked her head to the side. "It seems all men need to learn to keep their _hands_ to themselves."

In one quick movement, she pulled another blade from her pocket and stabbed through both his hands, leaving gaping holes in his palms. He screamed in agony as his hands dropped to the rocks of the bank around them. Her smile now was almost sardonic in nature.

"Now, was that so hard?" she asked in a mock-sweet voice, "I thought not." She cleaned her daggers on the cloth of his shirt, then replaced one in her trousers as held the other to the back of his neck, leaning down to his ear again. "I have a knife resting at the back of your neck. Do you know what's at the back of your neck?" The man shook his head – a bad idea, as it caused the tip of her blade to cut through the layers of his skin. "Right here, located at the base of the skull, is something called the medulla oblongata. Do you know what that does?" Again, he shook his head, and the knife began cutting at the first layers of muscle, making him cry out in pain. "The medulla oblongata controls basic things such as breathing, the beating of the heart, and motor functions. If it were to be damaged, it is highly likely that you would be paralyzed from the head down – if it didn't stop your heart or lungs first. At least… that's what they say. Shall we test that theory?"

"Nuuuhh," the man moaned against the ground.

"What's that? 'Yes,' you say?"

The man moaned again, louder this time. "Nuuuoh!"

"Well, who am I to deny the last request of a _dying man_?" she hissed, before slowly pushing her knife into the nape of the man's neck.

His yells became so loud that they echoed around the chamber, bouncing off the walls and ceiling. Suddenly, his body went rigid beneath her. Obviously, this was the paralyzing she'd hoped for. She twisted the knife in as far as the hilt then, as the man's last breath caught before it left his body and his heart stopped. A sigh escaped her mouth as she pulled the blade from the body, cleaning it on his shirt again before replacing it in her trouser pocket. The stones scraped together beneath her feet as she stood up, dusting off her once-black clothing before looking down at the corpse that had once been a friend of hers.

"What a shame," she muttered aloud, "He was so useful. Right up until he decided that killing his manservant was a crime against him. Never listened to me, the fool. But then, I suppose cats and dogs never do get along."

A slow clapping noise invaded the space around her, bouncing off the cavernous walls in a way that made it impossible for her to determine what direction it was coming from. She spun around, searching for the source of the applause, but saw nothing excepting the shadows around her.

"Who's there? Reveal yourself!" she commanded, first in English, then in French, keeping her voice as calm as it had been while she murdered the man.

A man's low chuckle seemed to come from all directions. "I must applaud you, _mademoiselle_, for your _striking _display a moment ago."

"Thank you, _monsieur_," she replied, bowing – for she was not in a dress, "Though I was not aware I had an audience. Will you not come forward and congratulate me in person for my performance?"

"And fall prey to the same fate as he? I think I prefer to remain _ici _(here)," the voice said in an amused tone.

His voice was silky and musical in a way that she greatly appreciated. It was obvious that he was a wonderful singer – to have a voice like that and _not _have a beautiful singing ability was nearly impossible. After the years of associating with the gruff-voiced men of her trade, he was a welcome relief.

"Where, pray tell, is _here_? Surely you cannot simply be an enchanting voice without a face."

The voice paused for a moment. "You think my voice to be enchanting?" he asked in a prideful tone, though she thought there was just a hint of hope there.

"Why ever would I not? Yours is truly _un_ _voix beau _(a beautiful voice)," she replied honestly.

There was a movement in the shadows to her right, and suddenly, the silhouette of a man wearing a cape was before the corridor leading to the lake. He was quite tall, and although she could not determine his build, she knew he had moderately wide shoulders.

"I take it you are the voice I have had the privilege of speaking to?" she said in the voice she used when speaking to whatever royalty she encountered.

"I am," he answered simply, the echoing quality of his voice lessened, but not diminished.

She took a few steps forward, testing how close she could get to this individual. After two steps, his booming voice ordered her to stop. Her feet ceased to move towards him, her hands held out slightly in front of her.

"Alright, I've stopped, and shall not come any closer unless you wish me to," she promised, as she had the strange feeling that this individual was as dangerous as she – an enemy you could not see was a frightening one indeed.

"No, you shall not," he agreed, "unless you desperately wish to end your life. Basing off your efforts with that man behind you, I can assume you do not."

Her nod reassured him. "You are correct in your assumption,_ monsieur_. I would much prefer to live for a while longer, at least. If I were to die now, I would leave so much undone."

"Had the man you killed done all he wished to in life?"

She froze for a second. _That was a pointed question._

"_Non_, he had not, for I have it on good authority that one thing he wished to do in life was murder me – as you can see, he did not exactly achieve his goal," she mentioned, smirking as she gestured to herself.

"Not exactly, _non_. You look quite alive to me, _mademoiselle_," the shadow agreed, again amused.

Suddenly, the yelling and shouting of multiple men came from behind the shade before her. He swiftly turned to look at them, then backed into the shadows, becoming invisible again. The group of men caught sight of her and began running faster, yelling all at once.

"There she is!"

"Get the lil' witch!"

"She killed 'im! She killed ol' Wolfe!"

"I'm wantin' _chat_ (cat)fer supper!"

Her eyes widened as she viewed the mob coming at her. "_Merde_," she whispered, before running into the shadows.

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_I don't think I need to explain what that last term means, though if you would like me to reveal it, let me know. _

_What did you think? Let me know what you liked, disliked, things to change, things to keep the same, things to explain - though I imagine that last one has a long line of questions at the moment. I promise, everything will be explained in time. Eventually you'll understand. It'll just take a while. _

_- Emmy_


	2. Meeting Monsieur OG

**Disclaimer: **_I still don't own anything Phantom-Related. All I own is my character and anything affiliated with her. _

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_Again, nothing is going to be explained. I suppose this is going to be the theme for a while yet. I have a lot of this written, by the way. _

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**Chapter Two: Meeting Monsieur O.G.**

She ran into something large and hard, but not like stone. As she looked up, a hand grabbed her forearm and held a gloved finger to her lips.

"Silence," the voice of the shadow whispered to her.

She nodded and the man released her, taking her by the hand and leading her away somewhere. His hand was gentle holding hers, as if he feared of breaking her fingers. The noises of the mob coming after them – or more, _her_ – became more distant as they rushed off. A minute later, she found herself being led down a narrow stone hallway barely big enough to fit the man in front of her, who was now bearing a torch. Unfortunately, it was still difficult to discern anything about him as he was between her and the source of light. After another few minutes of walking, she found herself being led into a candle-lit room. The man dropped her hand and began walking towards an organ in the middle of the… well, it wasn't exactly a room. She wasn't quite sure _what _it was, but it was beautiful.

All over, there were candelabras of every shape and size imaginable, each candle in them lit and casting a warm golden light around her. Beside her was a small lake, with a boat floating on the water. Her eyes travelled from a boat into an alcove filled with pictures and drawings of all kinds. As she viewed the land, she found a desk with multiple box models and more pieces of parchment, an ink well and a couple of feather pens. She skipped over the next alcove, but saw a small, blood-red velvet curtain that she assumed was a small cutout holding something. Beside her was a large room-like place. There was a small table with a box holding up a monkey that held a set of hand cymbals. She was quite intrigued by the little creature, but saved her inquiry for a later time and her eyes moved on to the large swan shaped bed draped in more red velvet with what looked like a black lace curtain above it.

"Perhaps you shall reveal what interests you so?" the voice of the man asked, and her eyes snapped to the figure standing before the organ.

For the first time, she actually had the chance to view him from the front. He had a handsome build, looking quite strong for an organ player. Her eyes travelled up his torso and to the right, viewing his appealing features and eyes that she could see, even from this distance, were a soft, beautiful blue. But the other half of his face was covered in a plain white mask that she could not tell his features through. It was almost a shame to her, she thought he was quite handsome – a rarity, she had discovered, for most men she encountered were not beautiful in any way – and would have liked to see his face whole. Unfortunately, with so many others, he most likely wore the mask to cover some scar or hideous deformity that he would prefer her and any other not to see. She wouldn't have minded it at all. She had seen some rather nasty deformities in her life and delivered a few as well.

"Again, I shall ask," he repeated in his musical voice, "Will you reveal what interests you so?"

She swallowed and began walking forwards slowly down the slope. "This place is truly exquisite. Has it always been below _l'Opera_?"

"It was not always where it is now, and it was not always so exquisite," he answered ominously.

"Then… did you build this place?"

"The answer to your question depends upon its meaning. To what are you referring when you say 'this place;' the lair you stand in now, or _le Maison d'Opera _(the Opera House) above?"

"Either one," she responded, smiling, "Both, if you can answer."

"_Oui_."

She stopped at the bottom of the incline. "_Oui_? To which? Or… do you mean to say you built them both?"

"That is a question I shall not answer. Are you in need of food or drink?" he asked, attempting to change the subject, and she knew it.

She shrugged. "I'm not particularly thirsty, nor am I hungry at this moment, excepting in my hunger for answers. You never answered me."

"I told you I would not, and I kept to my word."

"Is there a question you _will _answer?"

"Is there a reason as to your curiosity?" the man retorted, making her smile.

"Am I not allowed to know some trivial fact about my savior? For example… his name?"

His eyebrow raised – hopefully not a sign of shock. "Do you truly wish to know my name, _mademoiselle_?"

"It would, I think, benefit me. _Oui_."

"Very well, but I ask that you give me your name in return. Once I know of yours, I shall respond in kind."

She faltered for a moment. There was no chance that she would give him her real name, and little chance that he would be honest with her, either. Fleetingly, she remembered what they had heard the mob calling her – it was her working title, but it would do for now.

"If that is your wish. I am _La Chat Noire_," she informed him, bowing again.

He leaned slightly against the organ, resting his elbow on it. "Are you? If that is the only name you are willing to give me, then you may call me O.G."

"O.G.? What sort of a name is that?"

"It is not a name, just as _La Chat Noire _is not a name. O.G. is a set of initials, surely that much was obvious."

"It was, but why in the world would you be going around calling yourself O.G.?" she asked, but did not give him time to answer before adding, "It seems quite ludicrous."

The man pushed off the organ and walked away from her. "Only to those who do not understand their meaning do my initials seem ludicrous."

"So do they mean something? A phrase as opposed to a name?" the woman asked as she leaned against the wall beside her.

"_Oui, peut-être _(Yes, perhaps). That is as much as I will tell you; do not inquire as to the meaning I mentioned."

Involuntarily, she sighed. "If that is what you want," she groaned.

Obviously, getting information out of this masked man was going to be as difficult as making a greedy rogue share a bounty equally when that bounty constitutes all the income they've had in a month, if not more so.

"It is," he stated, then paused for a moment, "I do believe your pursuers have given up the effort of finding you. Now would be an ideal time for you to make your escape."

"Actually, it wouldn't," she reasoned.

If she left now, she'd be going into the streets of Paris, a dangerous endeavor in itself. To make matters worse, the angry mob knew that she'd murdered Wolfe and had seen her face. By now, they'd be going to the authorities and giving them her description. The _gens d'armes*_ would be out looking for her. Were she to slip up and be seen, she'd have the entirety of Paris on her tail and a death penalty hanging over her head. Yes, she was a fast runner and very good at losing people, but not_ that _good. Her only option was to stay here – she didn't know Paris well enough to know where she could hide other than the lake, and since that was where Wolfe lay, it was out of the question. The investigation would start there.

O.G. cast her an inquiring yet somehow unamused look. "Whyever not?"

"If I were to leave now, I would have to keep myself hidden, for the mob has most likely gone to the authorities," she explained, "Since I've killed a man, they'd launch an investigation to find me. I don't know Paris well enough to keep myself hidden. I would slip up; be seen; chased; caught; and sentenced to death. I'd rather avoid that."

The man chuckled. "_Je comprehends_ (I understand). I take it you intend to remain?"

"Have you a better idea? And before you tell me to hide in the lake; I absolutely _deteste_ swimming."

His smile became a full-fledged laugh. "I was not going to suggest that you hide in the lake. Now who is being ludicrous?"

"Still you, _Monsieur_ O.G.," she teased, putting a goofy sort of emphasis on his initials.

For a short moment, they laughed together. It was almost like a sort of beginning for friendship – though not like one she had ever known; all of those had been unfavorably flirtatious to the point of being perverted and therefore she tried to avoid them. But this was open and nice, different. It felt less awkward to speak to him now that she'd heard his musical laughter and laughed along with him in her quiet way. When they regained their composure, she looked at him and smiled. That smile was suddenly overtaken by an unavoidable yawn that lasted far longer than it should have. She was suddenly reminded of her extraordinary fatigue – she had been running from Wolfe for so long that she had little time to sleep, constantly needing to stay one step ahead of him.

"You need rest," the man stated, coming towards her swiftly and placing his hands on her shoulders – it was then that she realized she had been leaning fit to fall. All she could do was nod in response, to which he gave a lukewarm smile. "Come, you shall be able to rest here," he told her as he walked her carefully back up the incline to the alcove with the swan bed in it.

She would have protested had it not been for him turning her around and laying her gently on the bed. His touch was gentle despite his gloves, making it easy for her to accept his unfamiliar touch. When he laid her back, he tenderly laid her head on a velvet pillow, and she sighed, closing her eyes in contentment. A soft, warm blanket was placed about her shoulders and she instinctively relaxed, letting her exhaustion carry her into sleep.

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_* Okay, for those of you who don't know, gens d'armes - which literally translates to the 'armed people' - is the old term for the French (or maybe specifically Parisian?) police force of sorts. They're sorta like bobbies, I guess._

_Say anything, anything at all! Good, bad, somewhere in between?_

_- Emmy_


	3. Son Chat (His Cat)

**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing of le Phantome. All I own is my character and all affiliated with her._

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_Chapter 3... I'm going to have to stop if I want something more to give you guys later. Kidding, I have plenty for you._

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**Chapter Three: Son Chat (His Cat)**

Slowly, her eyes opened. It was dark, and it took her a moment to adjust her vision to the point that she could see the black curtain around her. She sat up and looked around her again. It appeared she had been sleeping in a very comfortable bed draped in red velvet. She stood quickly, surveying the bed below her that she could now tell was in the shape of a swan. All her memories of the previous night came rushing back to her – primarily, that she'd murdered Wolfe. High time _someone_ did that, in her opinion. Also, she remembered her encounter with O.G. last night. He certainly was a strange fellow, wasn't he? Though she had to admit, she wasn't really one to talk.

The moaning of soft notes wafting from an organ pulled her from her reverie and she turned towards the open entrance to the room. She had to assume he was playing it… his playing was beautiful. A picture flitted before her mind of her young self playing the pianoforte, something she had enjoyed as a child, but she cast away the image. There was no time for reminiscence in her life.

Carefully, she pulled down on the tassel beside the bed, causing the curtain to rise so she could step out. She noticed that she was now barefoot and her usual shoes were beside the bed, along with her stockings. Her bodice had also been removed, leaving her in her brown pirate-style shirt and riding trousers… the thought that he had removed her bodice upset her. It was indecent for him to have done so, but still, she was glad to be without it. The first time she had slept in a bodice, she had nearly suffocated. She was more used to it now, but it was_ tres_ (very)uncomfortable. What bothered her the most was that on a small table against the cavern wall were her knives. When she checked them, she found that they were all there and felt no different from normal, but she didn't trust him not to have tampered with them. Her knives were her most prized possessions; no one touched them but her.

Her steps were quiet as she exited the room and walked down the slope. As she ascended the steps to his organ, O.G. stopped playing whatever beautiful song it was and turned to face her on the organ bench. He was no longer wearing the long black cape. Now he was adorned in a simple white shirt tucked into a pair of black riding trousers. To her, he seemed far more relaxed now, but he still wore the white half-mask. That could not have been comfortable.

"You have awakened," he greeted her, standing.

"I have indeed," she replied, her smile gentle and small, "How long did I sleep?"

"For some time. Obviously, you needed it."

She chuckled. "I did. Running from someone is tiring, and…" she checked herself before she said too much and revealed everything about herself, "the sleep helped a great deal."

"I would think so," he agreed as he stepped forward and crossed his arms, "Now, _Chat Noire_, you claimed last night you could not leave. I took the liberty of going above to assure myself of your claims, and it appears you were right. The _gens d'armes _are looking for you and posing questions to everyone they meet about whether or not they have seen a woman of your description."

"I thought as much. It appears I have nowhere to go."

"That is not what you claimed last night. You said that you would have to stay here. Now what would I do with a young woman such as yourself?" he asked, and she looked shocked before he added, "I do not mean in the improper sense. I shall do nothing to harm your honor, you may be assured of that. What could you provide in exchange for shelter?"

"I don't honestly know. What do you need that I may do?" she asked, relieved that he was talking in business terms; something she knew well from her years as a rogue.

He thought for a few minutes, then looked back at her. "What are your skills? Aside from the lethal arts, which I gained enough proof of yesterday."

"Well," she started, ignoring his comment about her conduct with Wolfe the day before, "I have a wide range of abilities, though some are most likely quite rusty. Picking locks and sneaking around is quite easy for me, as is thieving that which I want," he gave her a distrusting look, "Don't worry. I won't steal from you so long as you give me a place to stay. I am indebted to you for this. I cannot extend the same promise to _le Maison d'Opera _(the Opera House), though… should you order me not to take anything from it, I won't," she sighed, kicking a rock a little as she stared at the ground in reluctant acceptance, "I'm indebted to you, and if it would upset you, I think I'd rather avoid that outcome."

"Good," he nodded, "It would be best if you did not take much from _la Populaire_. However, that does not include the kitchens – I shall show you the way to the kitchens at a later time – since you will be in need of food and drink. In addition… if you find anything of interest in the rooms of the resident Prima Donna, you may help yourself."

She raised a questioning eyebrow. "Is that so? I shall have to keep that in mind. Thank you. I promise that I will not require much food from the kitchens, I don't eat much."

"Taking into consideration the amount and type of mouths the kitchens feed already, I do not think it would make much difference if you did."

* * *

O.G. decided that he would show her around the tunnels through the Opera House, and that she could deliver his letters for him. It would save him some trouble, and give her something to do that would keep her entertained and out of his way while he was composing. This was great for her, since it gave her a chance to explore the _Populaire_ like she never could have had she simply come there in her free time. This arrangement also allowed her precious alone time and freedom. When she did come back to the lair after she had her fill of exploring, he was always composing something beautiful. Often, she'd hear him playing as she walked down the passages and simply stop to listen for a while. His music was quite beautiful. It touched her in a way she'd never known before.

They grew to be quite amiable to each other. When she came back, he would stop his composing and ask her how her day had gone, what new and interesting places she had found. He noticed that she often went to the roof, apparently to "look out over the city; it's quite beautiful." She'd ask about his composing, and he'd tell her which song he'd been working on and how it was coming along. Sometimes he'd confess that he was utterly and completely stuck, and she'd laugh a little before asking him to play it for her. Every once in a while, she would keep humming the song as she imagined it afterwards and it would aid him in writing it. Of course, when he asked why she was so interested and so gifted in music, she would never tell him. There were many things the two didn't tell each other, though they talked for hours on various subjects on an intelligent level. It was common for them to compare opinions on anything and everything they discussed. For someone he had assumed to be a simple thief, she was extraordinarily bright and quite opinionated.

Life continued this way for quite some time. After about two – or was it three? – weeks, she lost count of the days she'd been staying in O.G.'s home. There was no need to keep count; she liked staying there, and he didn't seem to have a problem with it. She was biding her time there, waiting until the mystery of her disappearance was either unnoticed or she was presumed dead. Sometimes she ran errands for him outside the Populaire, while checking for any word on herself. So far, she had heard little.

It was a simple, though sometimes exciting existence, particularly when they heard of something new happening in the Opera House, such as a particular opera being performed. Granted, they were both disappointed by Carlotta and shared a joint distaste for the Prima Donna, which made some performances a bit of an endeavor to stomach. Whenever they returned to the lair, they would always complain about her singing and make several plans to remove her. Quite a few things would go missing from the Prima's room from time to time; diamond necklaces, certain earrings, and other assorted jewelry. It was particularly satisfying for the rogue when she complained for days on end, sometimes crying about "losing" an item. Of course, when they searched, it was nowhere to be found. There were multiple times when the cat would return from her exploring early because Carlotta was on the stage attempting to rehearse, complaining that her ears were fit to bleed. Still, despite the Prima's chronic lack of talent, they always attended each opera at least once in his personal box, which was never sold at his request.

* * *

It was one morning a month and a half after her arrival that they heard of a new ballet girl coming to the _Populaire_. They had shared a look of mild amusement and stood up from what they were doing – he had been composing, as always, and she had been writing poetry, an ability she had recently picked back up from her youth – to race each other down the passageways like children. In just a few short seconds, they reached the managers' office and stood beneath the grate to listen in to what was being said.

"We're already running low on space, Madame Giry," Monsieur Poligny protested, "I don't think we have room for another girl, however small!"

"_Elle est jeune _(She is young), Monsieur. Give her a chance," Madame Giry pushed, "I will take her into the _corps de ballet_ and train her to be a chorus girl as I am with Meg."

He sighed. "I don't know… what do you think about this?"

"We may as well give the child a chance," Monsieur Debienne, the other manager, mentioned, "After all, what is the harm in taking in a _fille sans une famille _(girl without a family)?"

"There are already far too many mouths for the kitchens to feed," Poligny reminded him.

"Well, then we shall all have to eat a spoonful less. I can't let this poor girl go to an orphanage. Besides, she'll no doubt have more than enough talent, look at who her father is!"

"I admit, being the daughter of Daaé does her quite a few favors. I suppose we should let her stay. Perhaps she'll prove useful."

The cat under the grate looked sideways at the man next to her. There was a look of awe and slight melancholy on his face. When they turned to walk back to the lair, she caught up with him and walked beside him.

"You seemed to recognize that name. Does the name Daaé mean anything to you?"

O.G. turned to her quickly. "How do you not know of that name? Gustave Daaé is – _was_ one of the greatest violinists in Europe! His name is known all across France!"

They quickly began walking again.

"I apologize for not knowing this _life-altering _fact. You know that I'm not well-versed in the more recent composers or musicians," she reminded him, crossing her arms as they entered the lair.

He sighed as he sat down on his organ bench. "I know you are not. I merely thought I had educated you more than that. It appears that you have much to learn, _mon chat_."

"I know I do. Oh and by the way, I overheard the ballet rats calling you 'the Phantom' again. Don't they know that you're corporeal?" she asked as she walked back to the desk and sat down to write.

"How could they? I've never revealed myself to them and do not intend to. It is only you and Madame Giry that know I am physically real."

She scoffed as she picked up her pencil. "I still think it's _un nom loufoque _(a silly name)."

"That is what you said about my pen-name as well," he reminded her, "And you know now what it stands for."

"Yes, Monsieur 'Opera Ghost.' You take pleasure in being thought of that way, don't you?"

He chuckled as he turned to his organ. "_Peut-être_(Perhaps)."

* * *

_He's going to call her 'mon chat' for a while. And no, they don't know each other's names. _

_This story really takes place during Christine's time - during the musical/movie - so this is all setting up for the big stuff, but there are still some important things that must be explained about the characters - namely La Chat Noire._

_Anything to say? Good, bad, somewhere in between? Comments, edits?_

_- Emmy_


	4. Christine Daaé

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Erik or anything affiliated with him. All I own is the main character and all things associated with her._

* * *

_So... Christine has officially arrived. Yikes. _

* * *

**Chapter Four: Christine Daaé**

Another week passed by. The Phantom seemed to be getting increasingly restless day by day, as if some invisible sort of insect was crawling all over his skin. There were times when it got so bad that she had to set her hands upon his shoulders and force him to stop fidgeting, but it seemed to do no good in the long run. Once or twice during the night, she had overheard him muttering the violinist's name over and over, "Daaé, Daaé, Daaé." It was nearly driving them both insane.

After sunset one evening, out of the blue, he shot up from his organ bench and grabbed his cloak like he was preparing to leave.

"Where are you off to at this late hour?" she asked, looking up from her poetry.

He turned back to look at her. "I am going up to _le Maison d'Opera _(the Opera House), I need to deliver a letter to the managers."

"Why not just let me do it? I haven't been up in a while," she stood up and walked towards him.

"No!" he protested, a bit too quickly, and she quirked an eyebrow in suspicion, "I wish to haunt for tonight. I think the ballet rats have gone far too long without a fright, do you not agree?"

A moment of silence reigned before she uncrossed her arms and shrugged. "Alright. But don't return too late; I'll kill you if wake me up," she joked, giving him a half-effort smirk.

"I shan't be long," he promised and rowed off in the boat.

What in_ le monde_ (the world) was that about? It was quite rare for him to run off like that with such an unbelievable excuse. She had noticed over the weeks that for all his rogue-like qualities, he was a horrible liar. He could act quite well, but when it came to outright lying, he was terrible. The Phantom could not lie at all to anyone, particularly her – she had lived with rogues for much of her life, she'd had to learn to be able tell when someone wasn't exactly being honest. Of course, O.G. didn't have much human contact with which to practice, so she couldn't expect him to be extraordinarily good at it, but even children lie better than that!

It was no surprise that she followed him. When she was curious about something, she tended to get answers. Therefore, she tailed her strange masked companion into _le Maison d'Opera _using the tunnels from the lair. It took a few minutes of silent creeping, but she finally found him. He was staring at the wall quite intently and singing to someone. For a moment, she was lost in his almost ethereal voice, but regained her senses and quickly walked to the other side of the room. It was the chapel, she knew that much, but why was he singing there? Then she heard the small voice of a young girl. She sounded so innocent, so pure and untouched by the horrors of real life. It was quite beautiful for a girl her age. When she looked through the space in the wall, it was like staring into a mirror that shows only that which you most desire.

The girl was just like her. Soft, brown, ringlet curls, the palest ivory skin… so much like her. Tears nearly sprang to her eyes as she heard the girl speaking – she even _sounded_ like her.

"_Est-tu_ _l'Ange de Musique _(Are you the Angel of Music)?" the young girl asked.

There was a pause before she heard the Phantom respond, "Yes, child, I am your _Ange de Musique_."

"So Papa did send you, just like he promised! Oh, tell me, _Ange_, how is he?"

"He watches over you, Christine. He is content in Heaven, but for missing his daughter."

_La Chat_ watched all this with some measure of confusion. What was O.G. doing? Why was he telling this little girl that he was her 'Angel of Music'? He was many things, but as far as she knew, an Angel was not one of them. For a few minutes, she simply listened to their conversation. It should have, but it didn't bother her that she was eavesdropping on him.

"Will you teach me, _Ange_? I want to make Papa proud," the girl, Christine, pleaded.

"I will teach you. I will make you the greatest soprano France – nay, Europe has ever known!"

At this, the girl clapped for happiness and thanked him more times than was necessary. It was a minute or two before O.G. – or, _l'Ange _spoke again.

"The day has grown old, Christine. Return to your bed now and rest. Meet me here tomorrow eve and we shall begin your lessons then."

Christine readily and eagerly agreed, then turned around. The woman behind the wall froze. She was exactly like her. Beautiful in her youth, with the kindest brown eyes she'd ever seen. Her resemblance was uncanny. A sob escaped her before she could stop it, causing the girl to stop for a moment before running up the stairs. It had been so long, so many years. Impossible though it seemed, it was as if she had looked upon her once more, unchanged and just as young as she had been. Another, more silent sob wracked her body and she collapsed against the wall behind her. No… she couldn't be. It was not possible. They had been children then, age would have changed her, even if she hadn't… _non_. There was no way. She looked and sounded exactly like her, but wasn't her. It was impossible.

A hand clasped her shoulder firmly and she looked up at the face above her. He was angry, very angry, and dragged her along with him through the passageways to the lair without stopping for the gondola. When they entered, he dropped her roughly in the desk chair and stormed about, pacing. Finally he turned and looked at her with furious blue eyes as cold as ice.

"_Pourquoi _(Why)? Why did you follow me?"

It took her a moment to regain the ability to speak. "I was curious."

"Curious!" he repeated, throwing up his hands, "Have you not heard that curiosity_ killed_ the cat?"

"_Oui_," was her only answer.

"I will not stand for you being so insolent as to follow me!" he shouted.

"I understand. I won't do it again."

He stopped pacing and looked at her like she had gone mad. "Are you not going to respond?"

"I did."

"I called you insolent."

"_Je sais _(I know)."

He knelt before her, looking up at her impassive, yet somehow pained expression. "_Mon chat_, what is wrong?"

After a shaky breath that wasn't meant to be so weak, she responded, "Nothing. Nothing is wrong. I'm fine," she denied, standing up.

With an incredulous 'I know you're not telling me the truth' look, O.G. stood up and pushed her back down into the chair, kneeling again. One of his gloved hands reached up to wipe a stray tear she hadn't meant to let escape from her face. She broke then, letting the tears flow from her eyes freely. It was strange how comfortable she felt with him after only a month and a half. Without a word, he pulled her into his arms and held her close.

"I will not pretend to understand why you are so upset, but please tell me that it was not my anger with you that caused your distress," he whispered.

"It wasn't you," she assured him.

"Then what caused you to cry?" he asked, pulling back to look her in the eyes, and she shook her head. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gave her a long look, "Please tell me."

She paused for a moment, avoiding his gaze. "It was the girl."

"Young Christine? What could she have possibly done to you?"

"She didn't _do _anything. She just… looks so much like her," she ended the sentence in a whisper.

An eyebrow quirked as he pushed, "Like whom?"

She sighed and back in the chair. "My sister."

"This is a bad thing, I take it?"

It took a few moments for her to think about what she wanted to tell him.

"When I was young, I had a sister named Aletté. She was a very… feminine girl, always playing with dolls and dressing up," she smiled at the memory, then her face became melancholy, "We lost her to the pox when I was twelve. The reason it hurts so much is that I'm the reason she got it."

When she was eleven years of age – Aletté only nine – she had fallen ill with the pox. Maman – a nursemaid hired by their father – cared for the girl in her sickness, while their birth mother never once came near. Since an early age, she had taken the place oftheir mother-figure. Aletté refused to leave the room when her sister was quarantined; their bond was quite tightly knit. One sister never left the other's side. Despite being told of the risks to her health, Aletté stubbornly stayed with her and aided Maman in nursing the girl back to health. As a result of their kind, affectionate care, she quickly returned to health. The girl made a remarkable recovery, bearing none of the usual scars from the pox.

However, a few months after her recovery, Alettéfell ill with the same, as they had been warned would happen. It was dreadfully worrying for the girl, and like her sister had done for her, she refused to leave Aletté's side. Over the next month, she willingly watched her sister slowly get worse and worse until eventually, the younger died. The girl sat by her side crying and held her hand as she left. She was so overcome with grief that she didn't speak to anyone for a year. Losing her little sister was one of the most traumatic experiences in her short life. It haunts her to think that she lived, yet her sister died from the same sickness.

"As much as it seems unlikely, Christine bears a remarkable likeness to my little sister. I almost thought I was staring at her again, seeing Aletté again… she even sounds like her," she involuntarily took a shaky breath, "I could not bear it when she spoke. So soft and gentle, the sweetest soul you'd ever know – taken from me by the same force that I survived. No older sister should have to bury the younger. It is a torture I would not wish upon my greatest enemy," she whispered, before succumbing to depressed silence.

In a split second decision, O.G. pulled her into his arms and held her for a moment, trying to console her. She hesitated before returning the gesture, wrapping her arms about him. Despite living together, they had never actually touched before in a way that friends did. Yet this gesture from him was comforting, and she was able to regain her composure. When she pulled away, she almost smiled.

"_Merci_, O.—" (You should know this, but it means Thank you)

"Erik," he corrected her, "My name is Erik."

She regarded him for a moment before nodding. "And mine is Camillé."

"What a pleasure it is to finally meet you, Camillé," he joked with a light smile.

"The same to you, Monsieur Erik."

* * *

_ So our mysterious killer woman - in other words, Camillé - has a heart after all._

_Anything to say? Questions, concerns, good, bad, somewhere in between? _

_- Emmy_


	5. Free

**Disclaimer: **_As always, I own nothing of le Phantome, only Camillé and her affiliated aspects._

* * *

_Thank you, Lady-Mariam, for reviewing this! You made me so happy! And I'm glad you have doubts about Camillé - as weird as that sounds. I understood what you meant by him needing someone to make him a better person. I wish I could tell you something, but I cannot, so you'll simply have to wait and see what happens. _

_Keep the reviews coming! They make me a very, very happy author! :)_

* * *

**Chapter Five: Free**

Camillé sat at the writing desk, wondering what had just happened. Had she really told him about Aletté? That was one of her well-guarded secrets, yet he had pulled it from her with a simple question. Erik's fingers began moving across the organ, filling the space with a melancholy music only he could play. She shook her head to clear her thoughts.

"_Oublies ça _(Forget it)," she said without thinking.

The music stopped. "_Quoi _(What)?"

The woman looked sideways at Erik and repeated herself.

"Why?"

She stood quickly and paced. "Because I haven't told anyone that story since I was eleven."

"And this demands that I forget it why?"

"Don't you get it?" she snapped, turning to face him, "I don't tell people _anything_."

He raised his shoulders and tilted his head to the side. "And this cannot be the one exception?"

"_Non. _It can't, because there are _no _exceptions. I don't trust anyone, I can't."

He got to his feet and placed his hands on her shoulders. "I understand not being able to trust anyone. But can you not trust another distrustful soul? Besides, it is too late to take back your honesty about Aletté."

Camillé stepped back and shook her head. "I can't trust anyone. Even the people you think are the most trustworthy can turn out the worst in the end."

A moment of silence passed between them. Slowly, Erik said, "You are such a confusing woman."

A soft chuckle left her lips. "Yes, I admit to that."

* * *

The sky above her was deep blue, preparing to fall to the peaceful respite of the nighttime. A few stars peeked out from the dark abyss, but none would truly come until all of the sun's light had left the sky. Camillé preferred to be under the stars, to see their shining light. It reminded her so much of home. She had spent many nights laying with her sister on the grass in the courtyard watching the sky. It had been so much more beautiful at their home in_ le sud de France _(the south of France), though. There had been less lights to drain from the sky's enchantment.

A presence sat down beside her and she looked at him. He had always seemed to love the night as much as she did, presumably for a different reason that she associated with his need to hide from people. It was helpful in hiding, she had to admit, but she had never _loved _it for that. Erik turned his head to look at her, his mask and eyes shining in the moonlight. Though she found it strange, she liked the way his eyes seemed to glow in the dark, and almost envied him for his ability to see in the near pitch black. She smiled at him and looked back at the sky.

"You seem quite at peace here," her companion observed in his musical voice.

Deeply, she sighed before responding, "Yes, I suppose I am. I've always loved the stars."

They fell into a comfortable silence as they both gazed at the sky above them. Camillé began casually mentioning different constellations and stars, naming each one she recognized. Erik listened silently, looking at the stars she pointed to. He asked her why she knew so many of them and she regaled him with tales about laying beneath them as a young girl. Then she realized what she had done.

"_Mon Dieu _(My God)… how do you do that?" she asked him, "I've never met another person who could do that."

He blinked, confused, and gave her a sideways glance. "Whatever do you mean?"

She sighed. "For some reason that I don't understand, you can make me tell you things about my past simply by asking. _J' ai confiance jamais avant_, _je sais pas pourquoi je commence maintenant _(I have never trusted before, I don't know why I'm starting now). It doesn't make sense to me at all. What is it about you that makes me trust you, Erik?"

"I cannot answer that question for you, _mon chat_. All I can do is be grateful for it."

"I suppose it is pointless to worry about telling you the truth from now on and I should just accept that I will, whether I want to or not."

"On that accord, I believe you are correct."

* * *

Her breathing was quiet and slow. It had been a while since he'd actually seen her sleep. Usually, she slept when he did, which was so little he feared for her health. Of course, he did not worry for his own, but she did not need so little sleep. He reached out and tucked a stray piece of hair that had fallen in front of her face behind her ear. She moaned lightly and adjusted her position atop the desk, but did not wake. A small smile graced his features as he watched her peaceful sleep. He didn't know why it was so fascinating to him when she slept, but she appeared so innocent and child-like. For a woman who had killed someone, she was nothing like what he'd expected.

Camillé was a rather amusing companion, always saying things that at least made him smile. She had a sarcastic and satirical sense of humor, but she knew exactly how to use it. Her laugh was quiet and gentle, completely opposite to her outer personality. Sometimes she would surprise him and share something that revealed how sentimental she had once been. He almost wished he could see and know the sweet side of her that her little sister Aletté had known and loved.

Recently, he had learned that she was quite musically inclined. It wasn't that she had natural talent for learning and writing music, which she had some of, but that she adored it. She was constantly humming snippets of songs he'd never heard or singing little verses he didn't know. Her voice was pleasant, even though she didn't think so. Perhaps it was her natural love for poetry that drew her to music. She had told him that when she was little, she had sung lullabies for her little sister every night. He could tell that she had loved her sister more than anything else in her life. Aletté had been her pride and joy as an older sister.

He picked up the sleeping woman, one arm under her knees with the other supporting her back under her arms. Somehow, he found it hard to believe that she was so hardened when she had once been so loving and kind. It made him so curious. He wanted so badly to find out what it was that made her so distant. Surely somewhere she was still gentle and innocent, not as harsh and world-weary.

She rested in the swan bed, a moan escaping her mouth as she rolled over and curled up into a ball. Again, he smiled, and bent down to pull the covers up to her neck – she hated having them under her chin because her actual mother had once done that and it had been very, very uncomfortable. He resisted the urge to run a hand through her hair and shook himself free of the notion, wondering why it was even there. She probably would have murdered him if he had done it. With one last glance, he pulled down on the tassel and the black curtain descended.

* * *

"I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS!"

Erik reeled from the sheer force of her voice. "What can you not believe, _mon chat_? I take it you found something _dans la ville _(in the city)?"

"Oh, I found something, alright," she snapped, "I found _this_."

A newspaper from town was dropped on his hands as she stormed past him and towards her room. He picked it up and looked at the front page.

_'__La Chat Noire really LE Chat Noir?_

_A man has been found who claims to be the infamous Chat Noir. According to his claims and the provided evidence, he has committed the crimes attributed to the criminal in both Angleterre (England) and France. The group who said they saw the 'woman' kill a man have been dismissed, as they were admittedly inebriated at the time and likely confused the thin man for a woman based on his proportions. Ricard Bantére is the name of the perpetrator; he was turned in to the gens d'armes early Vendredi matin (Friday morning). __Thank God this evil man has been removed – we are safe once more.'_

Erik couldn't help himself and laughed. The simple fact that they thought _La Chat Noire _was a man was extremely humorous. Camillé came back from her room; her boots, stockings and weapons discarded. A sigh escaped her lips as she flopped unceremoniously in her desk chair. He cast her a sideways, highly amused glance.

"They really believe you to be a man?" he asked, humor lacing every syllable.

She groaned. "_Apparemment _(Apparently). Can you believe it? Me; a man?"

"I assure you, I cannot. But if they have never seen you, it is as it is with I and the ballet rats: they have not seen you, so they do not know you are female."

Her glance at him was unimpressed. "Erik, honestly, half of those crimes were accomplished with a fair amount of seduction. No man has it in them to seduce other men."

He gaped at her. "No, I admit, we do not. I cannot think of a man that _would _be willing to."

"Therein lies my point. Those 'authorities' are insolent fops."

"That may be accurate, but leave them to their misguided conclusions. At least now, you are free."

She did not respond for a good long time. "Free. _Libre_. I suppose I am… free, aren't I?"

"Yes, Camillé, you are. You can come and go as you please now."

"Erik, do you want me to leave? Do you want me to go back to _Angleterre _(England)?"

He froze. Did he want her to leave?

"Is it not truly your decision?"

"I suppose," she admitted, "But in all honesty… I like it here, Erik. This life is more settled and dependable than I've known in years. I'm tired of running."

"You do realize that eventually, you're going to have to tell me why that man was chasing you when you first came here, _oui_?"

"Yes, I know. But Erik… am I still welcome here?"

He gave her a long look before nodding. "Yes, you are welcome here, Camillé."

"Then do you mind if this becomes my home?"

"I was under the impression that it already was."

* * *

_So Camillé is free now, and chooses to stay with Erik. Hmm..._

_Please review... it made me happy. :) Any thoughts, questions, concerns? Good, bad, somewhere in between?_

_- Emmy_


	6. Argument

**Disclaimer:** _As much as I would love to, I do not own le Phantome or anything associated with him. All I own is Camillé and her affiliated details._

* * *

_Alrighty, here's the next chapter. Camillé is free and with Erik. _

_Lady-Mariam: Thank you for reviewing (again)! Yes, he might be falling in love with her, who knows? Erik knows, that's who. Well, actually he doesn't. I know! But I'm not going to tell! Mostly because it's rather obvious... I'm glad that you want to know more about her. You'll learn slowly._

_Nibblesfan: Thank you! I love that you think it's fantastic *insert giant, ecstatic grin* You hope. She might tell him, she might not. It all depends. _

_Anyway, keep it coming! :) Enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter Six: Argument**

A month had passed since _Le Chat Noir_ had been arrested. Camillé stayed in the underground with Erik, occasionally prodding him about his future opera star, but only getting bits and pieces at a time. He often asked her about her past; she neglected to tell him the things that were most important, infuriating him to no end, but she told him enough to learn more about her. As strange as it would have seemed to the people of _le Maison d'Opera_, he was actually a quite a kind fellow – to her, at least. They got in arguments, yes, almost yelling fit to bring _la Populaire _down upon their heads, but neither had ever physically hurt the other – whether or not they had threatened to was another story entirely. It might take a while, but one of them always approached the other with an apology, they would reach a mutual understanding and life would return to normal.

Camillé continued delivering his notes for him. Often, she knew what they said and approved of some of them, but definitely not all. When she was honest with herself, she thought that he was rather bossy. Of course, she hadn't mentioned that to him. When it came to delivering his notes, she was always silent, fast and efficient… which was not always how Erik worked. For the most part, the difference went unnoticed. However, Madame Giry had finally decided that the time for him to explain why he was not answering her when she tried to speak to him was long past due. She stormed down into his lair unannounced – though they had heard her coming and Camillé had hidden, deciding she didn't want to chance being recognized and turned into the _gens d'armes._

"Monsieur, what is going on?" she demanded.

Erik cocked his head as he stopped playing his organ and turned to face her. "I am playing my organ. Surely by now this is no surprise."

"That is not why I'm here, and you know that. I have been trying to speak to you, yet you never answer me! What has come over you? Am I suddenly not in your confidence?"

"You are, Madame, I assure you. If you were not, you would not be here," he reminded her, with a look that told her she could not argue with him.

"Then why don't you answer me when you deliver your notes?"

He stayed silent for a moment. "I… have not been delivering my notes."

"Then who has, if not their writer?" she snapped, irritated that he was being so foolish.

"His cat. Camillé?" he called, and a scoff issued from somewhere in the cavern – she had picked up his ability to throw the voice – that made her jump.

"Must you?"

"Yes, _mon chat_. Come out now."

Giry watched in shock as a woman of around twenty walked out of the swan bedroom and into the main cavern. She stepped slowly down the incline and back up the steps to stand beside Erik. Her long, dark down hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her dark eyes appearing black from her distance. And her clothing! Tight, black riding trousers, boots, and a loose, black pirate shirt that was laced far too little, in Giry's opinion. This woman was… sultry, at best! Why in the world was _she _here?

"Erik, who is this?" Madame Giry asked.

He nodded at the woman, and she took one step forward before bowing quickly. "You may address me as Camillé, since _quelq'un_ (someone)already said it," she hissed the last part, kicking Erik's leg with her right foot.

"You never told me that you did not go by your real name," he justified, and she glared at him.

"You didn't get that impression when I let you continue to call me by my work title for _a month and a half_?"

"I am ingrained so fully by now with your name, Camillé, that I think no other name when I think of you and therefore use no other name in reference to you aside from your _sobriquet _(nickname)."

She smiled sardonically. "Oh, Erik… you think of me?" she asked in a sickly sweet voice, teasing him.

"How could I not," he asked, smirking at her, "when you're constantly buzzing in my ear like_ une mouche _(a fly)?"

They were interrupted by the clearing of someone's throat. "As amusing as your banter is, I cannot help but wonder why you have a woman of _her type _here, Erik," Giry commented, giving her a look that displayed her distaste for the woman's attire and look, "I thought you had more self-respect than that."

"_Excuse-moi_?" Camillé questioned in a low voice.

Erik stood up and took his place between them, knowing full well what she would do if the cat got to her. "Madame, you have the wrong impression. She is taking refuge here."

"I'm sure," she responded, rather sarcastically, "How long has she been here 'taking refuge' from her troubles?"

From behind him, she shouted, "_C'est pas ton affaire _(It's not your business)!"

He turned around and spoke to her in a hushed tone. "Camillé, Madame Giry is one of the few people I trust in this place. If you cannot be civil, go back to your bedroom and lick your wounds there."

"Erik, she insulted me in the worst possible way. That woman thinks I am _une pute_ (a prostitute)here for your pleasure, and I intend to tell her otherwise!"

"Does it not suffice you to know that I shall do so adequately? I have the same intention as you."

She huffed and spun 'round, stomping up the stairs. At the top, she looked back to find Erik watching her ascent, assumedly to make sure she went there. It was impossible for him to miss the scowl she sent him, and he returned it with a disapproving glare. With one final huff, she turned and walked into her bedroom, flopping on the bed indignantly. After a few minutes, he appeared at the entrance to the room. When she looked up and saw him, she rolled her eyes and focused on the candle she had lit on the bedside table. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and turned her head to face him, but she instantly turned it back the moment he released it.

"Camillé," he begged, but still she didn't oblige him, "Look at me, _mon chat_, _s'il te plait _(please)."

"_Je suis pas contente avec toi_ (I'm not happy with you). You couldn't have let me handle it?"

"You would have ripped her apart. Your temper is quite frightening to behold. She'd have been dead within minutes, and you know that as well as I," he reasoned, and she finally turned towards him.

"Erik… do you not trust me? Do you honestly think that in my life I have not learned to control my anger? I am not a blood-thirsty maniac, despite your obvious preconceived notions!"

Camillé got to her feet and walked quickly out of the room, and he followed her by a footstep.

"Of course I trust you, but in the nearly three months we have spent together, you have not ever given me an example that you can…"

She turned suddenly, and he nearly ran into her. "Can what? Control my vicious and destructive nature? _Merde_! How many times have we gotten in arguments, Erik? How many times have we stood face to face and practically verbally abused each other? And how many times out of those arguments have I lost my composure and torn you to pieces?"

His eyes downcast, he shook his head. "Not once."

"And yet you still believe that I have no control," she scoffed, and he looked up at the disdainful tone in her voice, seeing her frigid eyes.

"Camillé…"

"_Non_. I don't want to hear any more from you. I have had it up to _here_—" she held a hand at her forehead, "—with this. Maybe my spending some time away from here will do us both some good."

His eyes widened as she walked past him to get her things from her bedroom. "_Attendez-vous_ (Wait)! Camillé, think about what you are doing!" he called as he raced up after her, "Where will you go?"

"Somewhere, anywhere but here!" she snapped as she picked up her one of her knives.

Erik took the knife from her and turned her to face him. "You have nowhere to go in this city. I cannot – _will not_ allow you to go wandering about in a city you barely know."

"I've had nearly three months to find my way around. I know the city well enough; I know where the safe places are. You needn't worry about me, _monsieur_," she said, in a level, quiet voice.

He winced. She only called him that when she was very cross with him. Only when she was angry enough to be cold and distant, as well as formal with him, did he really worry about her losing her senses and trying to murder him. With a sigh, he admitted that fighting with her over this would only cause more harm than had already been done. Slowly, he handed back her knife, but did not move, opting to stay where he stood until she had grabbed her all she needed and was heading out of the entrance to the bedroom. He turned to face her retreating figure and she stopped, looking back at him.

"Do not wait for me. If I don't return in a few days, don't come looking for me," she informed him, and with a final, lingering gaze, she was gone.

Erik sighed deeply as he sat down heavily on his organ bench. Well, that had gone horrendously. His cat had never been so upset as to leave before, not anywhere outside _le Maison d'Opera, _and certainly not for more than a few hours. He reflected briefly that he was awfully possessive of her. She was her own person, but he called her _his _cat, and made sure she was there when he returned every evening from his lessons with Christine. Why did he feel the need to do so, anyway? It was unlikely that she would go anywhere else, she considered this place home. A place that you consider home is a place you will deeply want to return to. Despite himself, he really did want his cat to return to him.

* * *

Camillé stepped out into the cold air. It was late; the sun had already set. Her steps were quiet as she passed through the streets, trying to find a place to stay that _wasn't _home. Yes, she had lied to him. She knew that there had to be inns in this city, safe places she could stay, but she rarely went there and didn't need to. A hand clasped on her shoulder and she wheeled around, hitting the person back. He coughed and stood up, looking her in the face.

"Really, love, was that necessary?" said a familiar English voice.

She switched into the language and replied in shock, "Daniel? Is that you?"

"Well, I hope so, or I don't know who I am."

A grin spread across her face and she hugged him tightly. He placed a kiss on top of her head and looked down at her.

"You know, I heard that you'd been arrested and I didn't believe it. Besides, I'm pretty sure you're a woman," he chuckled, and she laughed with him.

She pulled away and looked up at him. "Daniel… what are you doing here?"

"Ain't that obvious? I came to find you, take you home. You're free now, love. We can go back to London. Ol' Wolfe's dead – thanks for that, by the way, that man was a pain in the arse – and they think they've got you! You're free to come back home."

"Home…" she trailed off, her mind not seeing their hideout in London anymore, "We can go _home_."

"Yes, we can," he exclaimed, picking her up and spinning her around, "You can come home with me. We can start over."

"We can," she started, almost in a daze.

He set her down. "Come on, love. We can go home now. We can get married like we always wanted."

* * *

_I'm just going to let you say everything. _

_Anyways, more happy reviews? Questions, comments, concerns? Good, bad, somewhere in between?_

_- Emmy_


	7. Engagement?

**Disclaimer: **_As much as I'd love to, I don't own Erik or anything __Phantome. I only own Camillé, Daniel, Wolfe, and my other characters._

* * *

_Oh dear... so she's got someone who wants to marry her. Uh oh._

_Nibblesfan: Uh, no, he's not. Not one bit at all. _

_Lady-Mariam: In what way do you find it 'interesting'? I'm curious. I wouldn't say she was jealous, more of an over-protective mother figure going on a 'my son has a woman in his bedroom' sort of rant. I probably didn't get that across too well. Any suggestions? You don't like Daniel? He's hurt. I'm going to have to console him now... or maybe I'll leave that to Camillé. In explanation, it has been three months since she killed Wolfe. He could not come with her when Wolfe chased her out of England because she didn't want him to. He was not there to help her because she told him to stay in England. He didn't know that they had gone to France, and he only recently figured out that she had survived and that Wolfe is dead. That is why he is here. Understand now?_

_Keep the reviews and questions coming! I love hearing from you! Enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Engagement?**

Camillé froze, but he took no notice, grabbing her hand and leading her in the back door of a nearby pub. He raced her up the stairs and pulled her into a room in the back. Daniel looked at her lovingly as he discarded his coat and sat her on the bed beside him. His fingers tipped her head upwards and he kissed her softly, though she didn't respond. A little hurt, he pulled away.

"Love, what's wrong? Aren't you happy to see me again?" he asked, sounding so pathetic that she turned back in.

She smiled and placed her hand on his cheek. "Yes, Daniel, of course I'm happy to see you. I'm just… shocked that you're here and not quite sure what to make of this," she admitted, before placing a kiss on his lips, "I'm delighted to see you."

He grinned and gathered her close, kissing her quite thoroughly. Yet for some reason, she didn't feel right. Yes, she remembered everything about their relationship; the kisses, the plans to marry, the winter nights at home… everything they'd done for a year of their courtship. But kissing him didn't feel right anymore and she had no idea why. Confused, she pushed away the feeling and returned his kiss, hoping to mask her unsureness. It worked, because he was quite pleased with it when they pulled away. He kissed the top of her head and whispered sweet nothings at her.

"I love you, Camillé. I've missed you so much," he murmured into her hair.

She hummed softly. "I've missed you too."

He pulled back and gave her a 'you forgot something' look. When she didn't say anything, he scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"I said, 'I love you, Camillé,'" he repeated in a teasing voice.

She smiled, though her heart wasn't behind it, and looked up at him. "I love you too, Daniel."

Warning bells rang in her mind in the most dissonant cacophony she had ever heard. Her head was telling her that what she was telling him was wrong; so wrong. Something was completely off here and she didn't know what.

* * *

She was able to push away the feeling for a good week before it overcame her. In that time, Daniel had procured two tickets on the next boat to England and had talked so much of marrying her that she was beginning to regain her thinking that she never wanted to marry anyone. He had just gone out to find some dinner for them from somewhere other than the pub they were staying in, since they had had that at least six times in seven days. It was a glorious feeling, him being gone, but she didn't know why. Apparently, with the money they had saved up from their less-than-honorable procuring methods back home in London, he had bought her an engagement ring. It sat on her ring finger now, a perfect fit, but… not perfect.

Finally, she made up her mind. Her determination grew as she picked up a piece of parchment and one of the pens provided by the inn. She addressed the letter to Madame Giry on the front, as little as she wanted to. No, she didn't like the woman, but that didn't keep her from being the only person that she knew could get the letter to him. So, begrudgingly, she began the letter.

It took her a short amount of time to finish her letter and when she had enclosed all that needed to be enclosed, she sealed it with a little wax and made sure not to mess up what was already attached inside. With a determined nod, she left the pub and continued down the streets, walking for a minute before she remembered the way back to her destination. She entered through the back door of the Opera House, and walked straight to Madame Giry's room.

The women looked at each other for a moment when she walked in. She very calmly set the letter down in front of her and left without a word. Again retracing her steps, she returned to their room to find Daniel already there, waiting for her with a sour expression.

"Where'd you go, Camillé? I was worried about you."

"I'm fine out on my own, Daniel," she reminded him as she sat down and unlaced her boots, "I just went out to deliver something to a friend. Sorry I worried you."

He walked up behind her and kissed her shoulder. "It's alright, just warn me next time you want to go wandering off like that. Who was this friend, anyway?"

"You wouldn't know 'im," she assured him, leaning back against him, "He's… one of my clients here in Paris. I just had to give him the delivery I promised and tell 'im that I'm moving shop to London."

"Alright then. I brought back supper, if you're interested."

"Sure."

* * *

It had been _une semaine _(a week) since she had walked out of his – _their_ home and left because of an argument. He had been expecting her to walk back in the next day, but when that day passed and the day after, and the day after that, and the day after that, he had lost hope. She had obviously not intended to return to him, or she would have done so already.

Life was dull. While she was here, he hadn't quite realized how different his life was and how much more interesting it was with her company. Now that she was gone, he was forced to do the mundane things that he'd only done perhaps once since her arrival. He realized that he had gotten used to eating something, since she had been in the habit of feeding him at _d__î_ner (dinner) – at first she had offered and offered him something until he begrudgingly accepted it and since then she had fed him every afternoon – and now he found himself becoming hungry. Also, she had rearranged his desk – well, it was more hers now –so she could work on her poetry, making it impossible to find anything on it without her. He remembered that he had always listened intently to her while she read her poems aloud. She was quite a good poet, but now there were no more poems floating around him and nestling in his mind. He'd even secretly turned two or three of her poems into songs.

He stood up from his organ and walked over to the desk. Her poems were stacked about all over it, as always. The parchment was soft beneath his fingers as he picked up a piece that was strewn on the desk and read the poem on it. It was one he had never heard before, and it looked to have been the one she was working on before Giry came the week before.

_L'Amour Non Partagé _

_ A father figure, nothing more to her,  
__Yet so much more he wanted to be.  
__He saw her in a light she didn't share  
__And her indifference he could not see.  
__One day, he asked the question on his mind,  
__To a girl he scared by his advance.  
__He asked to her, "My love, will you be mine,  
__And share with me every day from hence?"  
__Her father knew her feelings towards the man  
__He knew as his best friend from his youth,  
__And so he said, the kindest way he can,  
__That his friend's ways were very uncouth.  
__Yet he persisted, and implored to her  
__Simply to accept his offer to wed.  
__He told her mother he'd take care of her  
__And she drank in every word he said.  
__Eventually, she convinced her husband,  
__And the girl was made his fiancée.  
__She was forced to wear his engagement band,  
__And they ignored every word she'd say.  
__It became too much; the girl ran away.  
__She knew her father would be quite hurt,  
__But simply didn't see another way.  
__She cast away her fancy girl's skirt  
__And opted for some riding pants instead.  
__She snuck out of the house and left,  
__Knowing a bounty would be on her head,  
__And that her father would be bereft.  
__Soon, she found the city unde_

It was an unfinished poem, but he was already reeling from what he'd read. Camillé had been promised to her father's best friend. They would have been the same age, and for her father to have two daughters… he would have been at least forty years old. Suddenly, he had the feeling that he had greatly invaded her personal life. She likely would have torn his head off for reading her poems without her permission, and he had known that. Why, then, had he read it in the first place? His curiosity had truly gotten the better of him. He dropped the poem on the desk and turned around.

* * *

Madame Giry walked down the passageways. Undoubtedly, he'd not be pleased about this. This was not something that one takes lightly. The torch in her hand sputtered slightly and she blew at it to give it more air. Finally, after many minutes of walking she entered the cool lair beneath _l'Opera_. Erik was standing there, looking out across the lake. He appeared to be so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't heard her enter. _Strange, _she thought, _he always hears me approach. _She walked up to him and set her hand on his shoulder, trying to get his attention. Erik jumped and turned to face her looking surprised, yet when he saw her, his face fell. Obviously, he had been waiting for his cat to return and had mistaken her for the twenty-year-old. She still thought he was making the wrong decision in her. Particularly in what he had told her yesterday. Despite her inner scowl, her face remained impassive as she handed him the letter.

He gave her a questioning look with his head cocked to the side and took the parchment from her hands. She shook her head, not wanting to explain what he was about to read, and turned around to walk away, following the passages back to _la Maison d'Opera_. He was definitely not going to be pleased about this.

* * *

_Next chapter is doomed to be Camillé's letter! _

_Keep the reviews coming! Questions, comments, concerns? Good, bad, somewhere in between? Already hating Daniel?_

_- Emmy_


	8. A Slight Misconception

**Disclaimer:** _You know, we're eight chapters in, I think you guys know the drill by now._

* * *

_Two chapters in one day... either I have too much time on my hands, or I'm beginning to really get into this story._

_Nibblesfan: Oh, my... well, I... Camillé? _

_"... ah... Oui, Mademoiselle (Yes, miss)!"_

_That settles that then. Enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter Eight: A Slight Misconception**

Erik watched Madame Giry leave with curious eyes. She hadn't said a word, yet that in itself had said much. Obviously, this was not good news. He wondered what could be worse than what was happening now. Camillé was not returning; the two of them were not on speaking terms; and La Carlotta was singing so loudly it echoed into the cavern, making him want cut his ears off. Today was not the best of days. With a heavy sigh, he sat down on his organ bench, opening the letter she had handed him.

_'Madame Giry, if you have opened this, please give it to its intended recipient. _

_Salut (Hello), Erik. _

_ There are no words I can say to express how sorry I am that I cannot say this in person. Yet I fear that if I were to return to the cavern on the lake, I would stay and never wish to leave. Yes, I am leaving. Someone from Angleterre came back for me and I am going to London with them. At least… that is what he keeps telling me. He wants to marry me, Erik. I thought I wanted to marry him at one point, but now I do not know. I do not think that I do, anymore. What is there to be done though? He has asked me to return with him, and he had claimed his everlasting love for me, and he wants to marry me when we return to Angleterre. Erik… I do not wish to marry him. I do not know why, nor do I know when this happened, but my love for him is gone and I would not want to marry this man for all the riches in the world. Yet there is nothing to be done. I am to return with him and I am to marry him. _

_ I cannot stand that the last words I said to you were said in disdain. I am sorry, Erik. So sorry. I cannot understand why you felt the need to send me away, but I should not have responded the way I did. Running away from one's problems does nothing to solve them. If anything, it appears to have made them worse. So here I send you my sincere apology and all my hope that you forgive me. I have already forgiven you. _

_ Erik… tu me manques._

_ Ton chat toujours (Your cat always),_

_ Camillé_

_P.S.: It is the one he gave to me. I cannot bear to wear it. Please, do keep it safe for me. It is far too pretty.'_

Erik gaped at the letter he was holding. Then he looked at the attached bauble. Truly, it was beautiful. A deep red ruby placed between two sets of diamonds, all held in a silver band. He smiled in a melancholy way as he was reminded of her coming home and complaining that nothing the Prima Donna had was silver, for she liked silver far better than gold. This mysterious _Anglais_ (Englishman)certainly knew what she would have loved had she loved him. But apparently she did not. Suddenly, looking at the ring, he was filled with an inexplicable rage. How dare that _Anglais _steal his cat from him! She did not even love the man! Yet he was dragging her away to a place she did not consider home.

He made his decision then and grabbed his cloak, fully prepared to march out there and bring her home. In a moment though, he froze, realizing that he had no idea where she was. It would be improbable to search the city for her; by the time he had searched everywhere, she would be long gone and likely married. The thought of that did nothing to help his anger, in truth, it fueled it. Then he noticed a piece of paper over by the entrance to his lair that Madame Giry had taken and knelt down to pick it up, temporarily distracted.

_'I cannot do this anymore. Help me, Erik. I care for him too much to leave, but cannot possibly marry him. Come for me, help me. We are in a back room on the second floor of the le Lame Verre. Come soon, mon ami (my friend)_.'

Erik smiled in an almost gentle way. She was the only woman he knew that would have enough mind to tell him where she was. And he was coming for her.

* * *

Camillé watched Daniel work with a mixture of boredom and fascination. He was not only a skilled carver, but he never made mistakes. Of course, this meant that she had to sit there and wait for it to be done before it looked like anything presentable and he was always too good to slip up and make things interesting by cutting a finger. She shook her head. Yes, she was definitely bored if she thought they should liven up the evening by having him nearly cut one of his fingers off. Her eyes fell to the loose piece of string that had come undone from the blanket beneath them as she played with it.

Her mind wandered rather aimlessly. It took a few turns around a dance floor with some random songs she'd heard downstairs, before wandering into her childhood home and trying to teach Aletté to waltz. A frown crossed her features and it got the message, walking away and down a set of stairs into the lair below _l'Opera_. There it sat down at her desk and recited a few verses, some from her own poems and some from famous writers she'd studied. Deciding it was bored, it sauntered over to Erik and wrapped its arms around his shoulders, kissing his cheek. Wait a minute… hold it right there.

She shook her head and cleared it of any more thoughts. Her mouth curved upwards as she mentally slapped herself. She didn't think of Erik in that light. Nope. No way, no how. That wouldn't and couldn't happen. Could it? No, it couldn't. In an attempt to distract herself, she went back to playing with the piece of string, but almost instantly, she saw herself with Erik again. Okay, it was official, her brain was obsessed and that wasn't a good thing. A moment of desperation flew over her, and she pulled Daniel to her, trying to kiss the thought of Erik away from her mind. He responded eagerly, but it just wasn't right, nor was it doing what she intended. Instead of dispelling them, it just brought them back more fiercely.

Daniel laid her back on her back, and she tried her hardest not to think of someone else. She was supposed to love this guy, after all. Her words from her letter ran around in her head. _'I don't think I do, anymore_.' But yet… she couldn't love anyone else. Perhaps she was simply looking for someone else, to convince herself that she didn't love him, but she really did. Again, he invaded her mind, and this time she couldn't push him away. He was simply there. And then he was there. As in really there, standing in the doorway looking very, very unhappy. Her eyes widened and she began pushing Daniel off of her, who asked her in a husky voice what was going on, as he had thought they were having a moment.

Without a word, she pointed at Erik and he turned around, looking at the huge, black-clad stranger.

"Who in the hell're you?"

* * *

Erik looked down at the man atop her with disdain. It was painfully obvious to him that this man didn't love her, because he would have noticed that she wasn't following through in their kiss at all. He obviously had not noticed the lack of engagement ring on his "fiancée's" finger. Perhaps it was time to change that. He put on a quick air of hubris, and pulled the ring out of his pocket. It took him a moment, but he slipped into _Anglais_ (English)– though his accent was heavy from being in France for so long.

"I'm here to give Camillé back her ring. She left it at my home after she… visited me earlier today, and I thought it might be kind to return it to her," he replied, with a quick wink at the woman in question.

The man got up abruptly. "I don't like the way you said 'visited,' sir," he said in a level voice, "Care to explain that?"

"Well, I assume you know full well."

Camillé stood and looked at Erik sternly, to the point that he almost backed down. "Erik," she reprimanded him in fast French, "Do not insinuate that. We've already had this conversation."

"_Mon chat_," he snapped back, "I can think of many faster ways to rid us both of this man, but I doubt you want him dead, so you shall have to settle for this."

"Erik!"

"So that's his name then? Erik?" the man seethed, trying to glare him down. It was almost amusing, and he would have laughed if Camillé hadn't been upset with him already. "God, he wears a mask on half 'is face? What're you, deformed or something?"

Her eyes shot up and met Erik's, silently begging him not to lose his composure. He supposed they both had little idea of each other's inner strength. Though… after reading that poem, he realized that she was far stronger than he'd known. But that was a subject they would have to discuss at a later time.

"Daniel," she started, but the man interrupted her.

"Love, you are my life. I have waited almost four months to see you again, and I come here to find you've taken up with somebody else, if not _multiple _somebodies?"

With an angry glance at Erik, she responded, "I haven't taken up with _multiple _somebodies, nor have I…" she was going to say that she had taken up with no one, but looked at him and saw the look in his eyes, warning her that this was the only way to get rid of him, "considered it. Just… just the one."

"You've taken up with _him_, then?" this… Daniel said, sounding less forceful and more pleading, like he wanted her to deny it and laud her love for him to the skies, as if there was a chance of that happening.

She looked down, playing the guilty lover caught cheating and doing a remarkably good job. Granted, it helped that she had removed her engagement ring and sent it to him, giving him the ring to 'return'. One look at her and he could tell she was having second thoughts. Perhaps this was the sentimental side of her that had neglected him. He walked over beside her and pulled her into his chest, where she wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled into him. Something stirred in him and he fought it, turning instead to the dejected man beside them.

"Yes, she has. Now take your unwanted ring and go back to England where you belong," he spat, holding her even closer to him.

The _Anglais _gave them a saddened look, then took the ring from Erik. "Camillé… I do love you. No matter what that guy tells you, I really love you."

When she didn't respond, the other man walked to the doorway. He looked back for a moment and Erik placed a long kiss on top of her head, just for good measure. Daniel's face hardened and he quickly disappeared down the stairs. Suddenly, her voice, smaller than normal and muffled against his chest, responded in two guilty words.

"I know."

* * *

_So... that just happened. Things are going to be interesting for Miss Camillé and Erik, don't you think?_

_Keep reviewing! (And in case you're wondering; yes, I will respond to all of them.) Questions, comments, concerns? Want to tell Camillé something? I guarantee you that she'll see it! And probably respond, too. _

_- Emmy_


	9. Realization

**Disclaimer:** _You know what? These things end Chap. 10. You know all this already and I doubt you even read it._

* * *

_Eep. Review-responses..._

_Lady-Mariam: Let me explain. She could not tell Daniel that she didn't want to marry him for several reasons. A; he obviously loved her more than life itself. B; she actually did love him at one point. C; she wasn't entirely sure why she didn't love him and why she didn't want to marry him. This situation is very different from the one with her Father's best friend, and you'll realize why in this chapter._

_Nibblesfan: Yes, and it's going to cause some issues. I think you'll like this chapter._

_Last Chapter: Erik saved Camillé from a marriage she didn't want to Daniel. When he left, he told her that he loved her._

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Realization**

Camillé held onto Erik for dear life. She didn't know why, but he was comforting to her, and she couldn't face Daniel. She would change her mind, go to England with him, and marry him there. But she couldn't. When she heard him declaring his love for her, she nearly broke. It was almost too much. He sounded so heartbroken, as if his entire world had been stolen from him. Perhaps it had. He was all the way down the stairs before she responded, in a voice weaker than she'd hoped it would be.

"I know."

And she did. She knew that he loved her and that he may always love her. Daniel had always been sentimental. To think that he had waited four months for her, only to have her already in the arms of someone else. Then it hit her – she really was in the arms of someone else. Surprised, she tried to back out of Erik's arms, but he held her by the forearms and looked her in the face.

"_Mon chat, _are you alright?" he asked, looking truly concerned.

She nodded. "_Je suis bien _(I am good), Erik. Can we go home now?"

He smiled gently at her and pulled her into his arms again.

"Yes, Camillé," he muttered into her hair.

She sighed. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Her companion kissed the top of her head as he whispered, "You're welcome."

Her friend was being awfully friendly today, but she didn't reject his hug, nor did she pull her hand from his as he led her home. The top of her head was still tingling from his kiss. All of her daydream images came to the front of her mind when they reached the lair, and she pulled her hand from his quite suddenly. He turned to look at her, surprised, and she turned around, face burning with embarrassment. This was fine with a regular rogue, this was fine with someone who flirted with her and made their desire for her obvious, but with Erik? No… this couldn't be happening. Just… no.

She could not possibly fall for Erik. That would make everything awkward.

"Camillé, are you sure you're alright?" he asked, placing his hands on her shoulders. Normally, that was a comforting, friendly gesture, but right now, she didn't need that.

She shrugged him off. "I'm… fine. I am just tired and need some sleep. I will see you in the morning. _Bon Nuit _(Good Night)!" she called as she ran past him and up to her bedroom.

"_Bon Nuit, mon ami _(Good Night, my friend)," he called back, in a softer voice.

She slid down the wall. Oh, this was going to make everything difficult. Why couldn't she just forget about those daydreams and move on? The answer was simple. Because they wouldn't be forgotten. It was like learning that the world was round as opposed to flat – once you know that the world is round, it just never leaves you, and you always wonder why we once thought it was flat. Camillé was wondering why she hadn't found him attractive before. Obviously, she hadn't been looking hard enough.

For the second time that day, she mentally slapped herself. Where were these thoughts coming from? Erik was her friend; her savior; giving her shelter; being her companion. He was _not _her beloved. That just didn't happen. Right? Right. Of course, the way he had pulled her close and kissed her head earlier… she shouldn't think about that, it would make this harder than it already was. With a determined nod, she resolved to push her apparent attraction to him to the back of her mind. He was her friend, nothing more. Likely, he would never be more. She swallowed the sudden sadness that overcame her. Nope, still not going to be more than friends._ Get a grip, Camillé, _she told herself, _you're becoming one of those love-sick puppy dogs. Erik does not love us, will not love us, and SHOULD NOT love us. We are staying with him as a friend. End of story. _She couldn't help the kicked puppy feeling in her chest. In desperation, she buried her head in her hands. What was happening to her?

* * *

Erik sat on his organ bench, thinking. Camillé's letter sat on the keys, taunting him with its closing. _'Erik… tu me manques.' _She couldn't have meant it in the way that it was usually used. That meaning was so… personal. It was as if she had written it unintentionally. Obviously, she did not mean it that way. Yet she had grown up in France, she knew how it was used. A feeling he was very unused to flitted around in his chest. It was almost like he _wanted _her to mean that. He closed his eyes and buried his head in his hands.

_'Erik… tu me manques. Erik, you are missing from me.'_

Those words flew around in his head, mocking him with their sentimental meaning. They pounded on his heart until it was racing. A sudden realization came to him, and filled his mind completely. He hadn't lied to Madame Giry that night. He did care for her. But to say that he loved her… that would have been too much then. Now, however, it may have been just right.

* * *

The next morning came before Camillé was ready for it. She had spent a large amount of the night before fretting over her newfound attraction to Erik, and hadn't slept nearly as much as she should have. When she awoke, however, Erik was sitting on her bed, softly shaking her shoulders. Groaning, she rolled over and buried her face in the pillows. She was rewarded by his musical laughter.

"_Mon chat_, I thought you slept last night. It appears I was mistaken. Nevertheless, it is well past time for you to rise," he told her, turning her back over.

She moaned in response. "I don't want to."

He gave her a stern look that reminded her of her father. "Camillé, you cannot sleep the whole day."

"Yes, I can, and I daresay I will," she retorted, rolling back over.

"Alright, but do not say I did not wake you nicely," he sighed, and she turned around to look at him.

He picked her up bodily, carrying her in both arms and quickly discarding the blankets around her. She squealed and squirmed, but he kept a tight hold on her. Finally, as he carried her down the slope outside her bedroom, she curled into him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Erik, where are you taking me?"

"Oh… nowhere," he said as he reached the writing desk, "I'm simply going to drop you in the lake."

"_Quoi_ (What)?_ Non, non, _Erik, please! No, Erik, don't! Please, Erik!" she begged as he carried her even closer to the lake.

Her arms tightened around him as she clung to him, clamoring and begging for him not to drop her in the lake. All he did was laugh in his melodic way and step even closer to the bank. By now she was holding onto him so tightly that if he had dropped her, they would have both fallen. She looked up into his face, looking for any sign of relenting. His face turned to look at her and their eyes met. The smiles on both their faces soon melted as they realized just how close they were.

He was very close to her. If he were to have leant his head down just a little more, their lips would have touched. In fact, he was sorely tempted to do so. She was so close… just a little more and he'd be kissing her. Kissing the woman he was now sure he loved.

He was so… close. She could feel his breath fanning over her face, and picked up the slightest bit of acceleration. Of course, her heart was pounding through the roof and into _la Populaire. _He couldn't possibly be this close without hearing it. If he leaned down just little farther, she could have kissed him. But she didn't want that… did she? No… she didn't want… Erik? Right?

"Erik… you can put me down now," she breathed, then nearly took it back.

For a moment, he stayed silent and gazed at her eyes, then muttered, "Of course."

Almost as if on autopilot, Erik leaned down and put her back on her feet. She looked up at him and their eyes met again, causing her heart to race. Unbeknownst to her, his did too. A blush rose to her cheeks and she walked away, straight to her bedroom. He watched her go, entranced by the woman. Yes, as he had heard the men of _la Maison d'Opera _above say, he had it bad. He had well and truly fallen for her.

* * *

Camillé leaned against the wall again. She was beginning to think that this was her thinking wall. Of course, at the moment, she wasn't doing much thinking. More… trying to calm her rebellious heartbeat. Why, oh why, did he have to be so… Erik? There really was no other word for him. He was Erik. Her breathing did not return to normal for another few minutes. And then of course, he had to show up again.

He knocked on the wall outside her bedroom, trying to keep from looking in. He had the urge to, but really shouldn't. It would have been so improper.

"Camillé, are you alright?" he asked – she had run off so suddenly, he was worried about her.

She didn't answer for a second. "Yes, Erik, I'm fine. Give me a minute. Just changing."

Heat rose to his cheeks at the thought of her changing and he walked back down the incline. His music sat waiting for him at the organ, so he sat down and began to play. Softly, the music began, then slowly became louder as he determined that he didn't mind her hearing this piece. He barely heard her steps coming down from her room.

"This is new. What's it called?" she asked as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

He could very clearly feel her touch through his shirt, and really didn't want it to leave. "It is called _Réalité _(Reality). You should recognize the lyrics."

He felt her hand on his shoulder tighten as she leaned over him, placing her head by his to see the lyrics. Almost instinctually, he turned his head towards her and was tempted to kiss the side of her jaw, but that might not have been appropriate. After all, he had no idea as to how she felt. Though… from what he'd seen when he was threatening to drop her in the lake, she felt the same.

Camillé didn't know why she was this close to him. She did know that she liked it. Being this close to Erik was new, was exhilarating, and she loved it. His breath fanned over the side of her face and her neck, and she nearly shivered. Her eyes scanned the music and saw that her poem had been turned into a song. He had turned her poem into a song. She nearly fainted. This… was a love poem. She had written it in one of her more romantic moods. Surely he hadn't meant to… no. He couldn't.

"Do you like it?" he asked softly.

Her head turned to face him and she was less than six inches away from his face. "I… love it. I'm flattered," she breathed, and pulled away before her pesky hormones ran away with her senses.

Erik looked up at her and smiled. "Would you sing it for me?"

"What?"

"Would you sing it for me?" he repeated, softer this time.

She looked him in the eyes and nodded. He scooted over on the organ bench and she sat down beside him, their sides touching as he reached out to play the starting notes for her. Closing her eyes, she began to sing, and his soft playing joined her voice.

_"Is it me you dare to see?  
__Do you see the holes around me?  
__Save me, my love, before I fall  
__Bring me back to reality_

_ I've been wand'ring, lost at sea  
__Throw me a rope and rescue me  
__Before I drown and then am gone  
__Bring me back to reality_

_ Someone's looking out for me  
__Protect me from the ones who see  
__That my heart to you belongs  
__Bring me back to reality_

_ As we both know, it is to be  
__Brought to light by destiny  
__I love you with a heart so true  
__Bring me back to reality_

_ I'm living in a world of fantasy  
__Seeing only what I wish to see  
__But not the world that you live in,  
__So bring me home to reality."_

The song ended on a high note and her voice rang in the small space. Erik reveled in the sound for a moment before looking at the woman who had written the song's loving lyrics. She still had her eyes closed, seeming lost in her own thoughts. Oh, how he wished to know what she was thinking! What was going on behind those eyes, what was running through her mind? Did she feel the same connection between them that he did when she sang to his music? Did she feel the same about him as he did about her? With all his heart, he hoped she did.

* * *

_Writing this is killing me. They're falling so slowly!_

_Review, please! Questions, comments, concerns? Good, bad, somewhere in between?_

_- Emmy_


	10. Realization (Part Two)

_Your reviews make me smile!_

_Nibblesfan: Yes, they are. Though... Camillé is decidedly in denial._

_Alright, I've got an interesting chapter for you tonight, though it is slightly shorter than the others and for that I apologize. Here - enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Realization (Part Two)**

Her eyes opened and he was met with the darkest eyes he'd ever seen. Only a slight color permeated the deep brown – that of a light golden color he loved. Granted, he loved everything about her. He had fallen so deeply for her. How it had taken him so long to notice that she was the most amazing creature in the world, he didn't know. Erik smiled at her and her brilliant grin greeted him.

"Your voice is beautiful, Camillé," he told her, but she just scoffed and shook her head.

"No, it is not, and you know that. Your future opera star has the beautiful voice, not I," she tried to remind him.

His cat stood and walked away from him. Immediately, he missed the closeness of her. He pushed the feeling down and he stood as well, following her to her desk. When she sat down, he placed his hands on her shoulders, wanting to have some connection to her.

Camillé felt his hands on her shoulders and tensed. His touch was so gentle… it was torture on her self-control. She wanted to turn around and kiss him, but that… wasn't appropriate. Nope. Not for Erik. _We're just friends, _she chanted for herself, while her hormones laughed at her openly. Tingles ran up and down her spine, making very difficult to sit still. Somehow she managed, and looked down at her desk. _Oh no… that shouldn't be out._

Her poem about her father's best friend was out in the open. She hadn't meant to leave that out. That wasn't meant for anyone to know. Some pieces of the past were meant to be kept in the past. Erik stalled her hand as she went to put it away, and she froze completely, feeling nothing but his hand running down her arm. Then she realized that he was taking the poem from her. In an instant, she snatched it back from him. He gave her a look that was uniquely Erik, a look of pure… sheepishness? What? Then she realized what that look meant. All of her hormones quieted, replaced by a deadly silence in her mind, broken by one sentence. _He read it._

She backed away from him and the desk. "_Tu as lit ca _(You read this)?"

"Camillé, I didn't know what it was about until it was too late. I did not know that –"

"Erik, you knew! Don't use that excuse! You know full well that I don't appreciate you looking through my things!"

He winced visibly and she almost felt bad for yelling at him. "_Oui, je sais_ (Yes, I know). But you must believe me when I say that it was an act that I do regret. I apologize, _mon chat. _I am sorry. Please, please forgive me."

She gave him a sideways look. He was quite quick to apologize today. Besides, he honestly looked as if he meant it and wanted her to forgive him or he'd punish himself. Finally, she relented to those blue eyes that she found she absolutely could not refuse. Which… was not at all anything to do with her. He simply had a good puppy dog face. His was the most attractive; irresistible; handsome; okay, she did _not _need to be going down this track with her mind or she'd kiss him. Besides, she was supposed to be angry with him!

"I will forgive you…" she started, and he visibly relaxed, "_if_," she added, which made his shoulders drop, "you promise to me that you will _never _do this again. I trust you, Erik, but I can only trust so many times."

"I understand," he agreed, nodding, "and I will do as you ask. But Camillé, please tell me; trust me with the story behind this poem."

She sighed. "I knew you would ask that. Know this; it is harder for me to relate this to you… I have not told this story to anyone before. I do not even know why I am trusting you with this."

Actually… she did know. He was her confidante, she trusted him without ever needing to doubt. And besides, she was beginning to fall for him. No, she wasn't. Yes, she was. She couldn't decide. In her mind, she didn't want to love him, wanted nothing to do with love, but her heart yearned to accept her feelings and accept him. No… she could not do that. Erik was her friend, nothing more. Right?

"I've already told you about Aletté. How she died when I was young. Well, I was eleven years of age at the time. After she died, I spoke to no one for months. A year passed before I talked. When I returned from my self-seclusion, I was old enough to attend supper with the adults. I spent my time with my father and his friends since my other playmates had… moved on," she explained, then sighed for a minute.

Erik gave her a look in her eyes and took her hand into his own. "You do not need to tell me. I can surmise the rest on my own."

"No, I want to tell you. I ought to tell this to someone," Camillé reasoned, "might as well be my only real friend in this world."

He was half-tempted to smile because he was her friend, and half-tempted to be piteously heartbroken because she thought of him as a friend. For the meantime, he settled on nodding with a gentle smile and pulling her into his arms for a moment. She was so soft… so gentle and much, much weaker in this moment than he'd ever seen her.

He was comforting. She knew that calling him her friend just wasn't right, yet felt as if calling him anything else would raise unnecessary questions at this moment. Her arms went around him and she relaxed into his chest, laying her head on his shoulder and smiling contentedly. Then she pulled away, but stayed in his arms. Not that either of them were complaining.

"When I was fourteen, my father's best friend – I had always called him Uncle, and now I can't remember his real name – he took me out for a walk. Before I knew what was happening, he was on his knees asking for my hand," she muttered, and he looked down at her quizzically, to which she nodded, "See, he had two children – Samuel, only a year older than I, and Katherine, who was Aletté's age. When Sam and I were young, he also had a beautiful wife; Natalie. She was a wonderful woman and my mother's best friend. But she died giving birth to Katherine, leaving him a widower. For some reason, he fell in love with me and decided that I would be the perfect replacement wife."

Erik's expression became one that urged her to continue, and she did. "I was very disturbed by this, and turned him down, of course. But I guess he couldn't take no for an answer, because he kept asking and asking. Eventually, my father had to tell him that it was rather frightening to both me and the rest of our families, and asked him to stop. After all, the man was only a year younger than Papa, who was about forty years of age at the time. He was decidedly old enough to be my father," she muttered with a shudder, and Erik rubbed up and down her arms to comfort her, "I don't know why, but he never actually listened to Papa."

"Next, he went to my mother. He told her all the reasons why he would be the perfect husband for her now _only _daughter – he already had a fortune; he was dependable; they knew that they could trust him; and he had already had a wife once, he knew how marriage worked. She listened to him, and somehow convinced my father that he was right. Four months after he asked me to marry him the first time, he was slipping an engagement band on my finger. That's part of the reason why I _hate _gold jewelry. His ring was gold," she explained, and he nodded, "But it wasn't until about three weeks later, that we were preparing for the wedding, that I decided I could not, _would not _do this. I finally figured it out when he tried to kiss me."

Erik backed up, looking quite surprised and a little disturbed. "He tried to… kiss you?"

"Yes, he tried to kiss me," Camillé repeated, "It was the most disgusting event of my life. The next day, I was gone. _Je suis parti_ (I left). I put on my riding trousers, gathered some items I could sell and took to the streets. That's how I got involved with thieves, rogues and the like. They were the only ones who even took a second glance at me."

Noticeably, he bristled. "Yes, I am sure they did."

They were silent for a moment, as she gave him an inquisitive look but decided not to bring it up. He couldn't possibly have meant to look protective. More than likely, he thought she was _une pute _(a prostitute) and was offended. She wouldn't have blamed him, honestly. That had happened to her more than once in her life. People didn't tend to take the idea of a female rogue very well – even the rogues themselves didn't.

Erik did not want to think about the rogues 'taking a second glance' at her. Of course, he knew exactly why. She was beautiful. But he didn't take kindly to other people thinking that she was beautiful. She was his; he loved her. Granted, she didn't know yet. Still, as soon as he built up the courage to let his feelings show, she would be his. Because by the time that he was giving her his affections, he would know that she loved him in return. Hopefully, she would.

Unconsciously, he pulled her closer and rested his chin on top of her head. She sighed and snuggled into his arms, relieved that he still loved her. Uh… _non, _he still _accepted_ her. He didn't love her. Nope. Couldn't happen. No matter how much she wanted it to. Not that she did want him to. She pulled back and looked into his eyes. Finally, she resigned herself to it. She loved him. He was the most wonderful person she had ever met. The safety she felt with him was something she had with no one else. Not even Daniel had ever made her feel this way, and she had once loved him. No matter how Camillé looked at it, she could find no reason not to… she loved Erik.

* * *

_Alright, so she finally admitted to herself that she loved him. Yay! And we got another piece of the giant puzzle that is Camillé. _

_Keep reviewing! YOU THERE! YES, YOU WHO IS READING THIS STORY AND NOT REVIEWING! I WANT TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! TELL ME! _

_Any questions, comments, concerns? Good, bad, somewhere in between? What do you think?_

_- Emmy_


	11. Protector

_Okay, I couldn't hold back from posting this. Have an extra chapter. :)_

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Protector**

Her laugh echoed in the room, mingling with at least a dozen other voices. It had been a long time since she'd spent any respectable amount of time in a pub on her own and she had forgotten how much fun it could be. Despite the occasional uncomfortably flirtatious drunk, most of the men here had respect for a woman who could hold her own liquor. After a whiskey shot and two glasses of brandy, she knew she was done. It was enough to get her slightly numbed to the world, as much as she needed to be. It wouldn't do for Camillé to be losing her head in a place like this. It wasn't safe for her or anyone else here.

"So, what's _une très belle femme _(a very beautiful woman) like you doing in a place like this?" asked a very slurred voice that had obviously had a few too many shots since coming here.

Of course, there would be a man that just couldn't keep his hands to himself. There was always one. Usually, though, they were more touchy than talkative. But she was used to dealing with this sort of man. If she made it clear that she wasn't interested, it was likely he wouldn't take the hint. Still, it was worth a try.

She pushed the drunk off her shoulder and didn't give him even a glance. "Getting less drunk than you," she retorted, getting up from her chair.

His hand clasped her elbow and pulled her back. "Come now, _chérie, _you know as well as I; you won't find a better man in this place."

Obviously, her previous plan wasn't working. Time for her normal tactic – being aggressive and leaving. That always drove them off. She took on a defensive and dangerous attitude almost instantly. The other patrons must have noticed, because they all looked at her and looked back down at their drinks. Some of them even moved away from the scene.

"Let go of my elbow," she warned the man, pulling her arm free of his grasp and quickly walking out.

It seemed, however, that this man simply didn't know how to take no for an answer. He followed her out of the pub quite obviously, and spun her around to face him again, going in for a kiss. Without thinking, her hand flew up in a fist and made contact with his face. A loud crack and the sound of something being crushed indicated to her that she had broken something – likely his nose. Most times, this would make them come to their senses and she'd feel sorry for hurting them later. But this guy wasn't like most drunks. In a split second, she was turned and slammed against the wall, getting a fist to the eye. Her instincts kicked in and she began fighting dirty and necessary. She kicked him in _les bijous de ta famille _(his family jewels) and tried to run off, but someone – assumedly the idiot she was fighting – grabbed her wrist and yanked her around.

* * *

Erik stretched rather lazily as he stood up from his organ bench. He looked to his left, only to see the usually occupied desk chair devoid of his cat. It was quite odd that she was missing; she almost always stayed up as late as he did, if not later on some nights. That worried him. However, he simply brushed it off as her having gone to bed early and he simply hadn't noticed or had been playing. He was glad – she needed sleep anyway. Her staying up like he did wasn't good for her and he really did want what was best for her. He did love her, after all. Gently, he blew out the lamp over his organ.

Carefully – for if Camillé was asleep, he didn't want to wake her – he stepped down the stairs, up the incline and stopped for a split second, mentally battling with himself. He wanted to check on her. Though he had no clue now to admit it aloud, his love for her had grown in the past month. She was everything he wanted; everything he needed. Her every movement was entrancing. He was driven insane by this wonderful woman he lived with and loved. What would be the harm in checking on her? Besides, it would just be a quick peek and he'd leave the sleeping woman. Finally, he gave in to his own prodding and went into her room, looking down at her… empty bed. _Quoi_? Why was her bed empty? Her bed should not have been empty at this time of night and she shouldn't have been _out_ at this time of night. It wasn't safe. Who knew what could happen to her in the Parisian streets?

Erik panicked. His beloved was gone and he didn't know where she was. She couldn't have left him again, could she have? No, she had told him that this was home and they hadn't been in a fight recently. In movements swifter than humanly possible, he grasped his cloak, threw it on and left from the lair to the streets. His feet made more sound than normal as he went to find her on the cobblestone paths, searching through the establishments for any sound of her voice, but he didn't care. She was more important. Most places around town were closed. Except… there were the places two streets from here. Pubs, most of them. He'd thought that after their last experience in a pub, she wouldn't want to go back to one. Hopefully he was right.

As he neared the pub the center of the block, he heard the sounds of a fight and specifically, the sounds of Camillé fighting. He raced to her location and saw her break a drunkard's nose. For a second, he was proud of her, but then the man grabbed her and pushed her against the wall, making her fight as she had to, and his pride was overridden by worry. The drunk took a rather nasty hit to _les couilles _and Camillé tried to escape. The man grabbed her wrist to keep her from leaving. His expression and demeanor darkened. Erik sprang into action.

He grabbed the man, turned him around and disconnected his hand from her wrist. As the man became angry, he swung a fist at Erik, attempting to hit him. It was a simple strike to dodge and he threw the man into the ground below them. The drunk hit it hard, his hands catching him but only barely. Enraged, he got up and tried to lunge at Erik, who used the man's momentum against him by swinging him around towards the wall. Of course, without any sense of direction, the man simply rammed into the wall quite hard. He picked up the man and when his opponent looked up, he glared into the man's eyes, causing him to shrink from intimidation.

"_Ecoutez-bien, monsieur_ (Listen well, sir)," he hissed in a dangerous tone, "You will never touch this woman or any other woman again. If you do, I will know and I will find you. _Je te tuerai, comprendre _(I will kill you, understand)?"

The man nodded quickly and nervously, anxious to get away from this masked man. Erik released him and the man took off at a run. Camillé was looking at him with a worried face, but he only grabbed her arm and led her away, back to their home. She had to practically jog to keep up with his fast strides. When they reached the lair, he dropped her arm and replaced his cloak calmly before turning to her. She looked him in the eyes and noticed the barely contained fury behind them.

"Erik…"

"_Quoi dans la monde tu faisais _(What in the world were you doing)?" Erik asked in a voice that was deadly calm, "Did you think that it was a good idea to go out without telling me? And especially to a place like that?"

Camillé bristled. "I apologize, _Maître _(Master), for not telling you that I was going to leave. I did not realize that I needed your permission to go out."

"That was not what I meant and you know that. What did you think would come of going _alone_ to a pub, Camillé? Did you think that you would be safe? A woman cannot be –"

"'A _woman _cannot be?' I thought you knew by now that I am not an ordinary woman, Erik. I am perfectly capable of defending myself," she hissed, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Ah, _oui_, and that is why I had to come to your defense," he sneered.

She took a defiant step forward. "You didn't _have _to come to my defense. You _chose _to defend me. I would have done perfectly fine alone."

"_Non, _I do not think that you would have. I cannot allow you to –"

"You cannot allow me? Erik, you don't control me, and I don't see why I can't do whatever in _le monde _I want!"

"You are a woman, Camillé, regardless of –"

"Again with my being a woman! Haven't you gotten it by now? I am not like most women!"

"I know you aren't –"

"No, apparently you –"

"Would you let me finish a sentence?" Erik boomed, and Camillé went silent, still boiling with fury. "_Merci_. Now, listen to me and do try your hardest not to interrupt," he demanded, and she fumed quietly, "Despite the fact that you are not an ordinary woman, you are still a woman. Any man that looks at you once can tell both that and the fact that you are quite attractive." She almost thought that he was giving her a compliment, but it barely registered before he continued. "It is not safe for you to be out at places like that, _particularly at night_, without being accompanied. As happened tonight, a drunk will attempt to take advantage of you, and I cannot allow that to happen."

Camillé looked at him for a moment, and he seemed to be done. "Why can't you allow that to happen?"

"Because… I am here as your protector. I –"

"Erik, I don't _need _a protector."

"_Je sais, mais _(I know, but)…"

She scoffed. "Then why are you trying to be one?"

A long sigh escaped as he turned around and ran a hand through his ebony hair. How was he supposed to tell her this without actually admitting to her that he loved her? The answer was simple; he couldn't. There was no way around this now. If he told her he cared for her, she would take it as love. If he told her that it was because of her past, she would become offended and refute it with her own ability to protect herself. If he said it was simply because he couldn't, she would know something was going on and force him to admit it anyway. There really was no other way. With a shaky breath, he turned to her and looked her in the eyes.

"_Parce que je t'aime_, Camillé (Because I love you)."

* * *

_I'll let you guys say everything._

_This is my song for this chapter: Trying Not to Love You by Nickelback (yeah... weird group for a Phantom story, huh?)_

_Any questions, comments, concerns? Good, bad, somewhere in between? Random comment? I love hearing from you!_

_- Emmy_


	12. Mon Amour

_Alright... lots of things to respond to. D'accord..._

_Lady-Mariam: 1) Yes, I wrote every poem and song that you see in here that is not from the PotO musical itself. 2) No, not really better... but she doesn't have a choice anymore, does she? 3) You read my mind. Stop that. It's disconcerting._

_Nibblesfan: Erik says thank you, and he would have said it sooner if she showed any signs of loving him back. As it stands, he says he's very nervous and possibly going to die if she doesn't say anything back._

_gogo2625: Is this what you wished for? You're welcome._

_Keep the reviews coming! I love hearing what you think! Especially questions and criticisms! You help me realize that some things aren't exactly clear. Just know that everything will be explained in time. Eventually. After the fluffy stuff. ;) Enjoy!_

* * *

**Recap: **"_Parce que je t'aime_, Camillé (Because I love you)."

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: _Mon Amour_**

Camillé froze completely. He couldn't have meant… could he? Erik… loved her. Erik _loved _her! Her heart warmed and fluttered, but suddenly her mind cooled everything with a single statement. _So did Uncle_. The last time someone she trusted implicitly had told her they loved her in a confession like this, it had turned out very, _very_ badly. For a moment, all she could see was the image of her childhood uncle kneeling before her, telling her that she was the only woman he'd ever want to marry, because no other woman would ever be her equal and he loved her with all his heart. She hadn't even been a woman at the time. A child, compared to women like her mother. That same fright as she had felt then struck her in droves now. She couldn't do this. Her fear of love confessions paralyzed her; silenced everything. She was not ready for this.

Yet… her heart refused to be silent for long. It started as a whisper, telling her that Erik was nothing like her uncle, and this man really loved her. Besides, they were both roughly the same age – perhaps he was a few years older than her, but no more than five – and he hadn't been _family _before. Her fear was irrational, and she knew that. But for some reason, she was unable to overcome herself. Erik had just turned her world upside down and he didn't even know.

* * *

Erik watched her for a minute and saw that she wasn't going to respond. Her mouth had opened and she was glancing between him, a candelabra, and his organ. It appeared that her gaze was not directed to these things for any particular reason, simply because they were there and _not _him. For only a minute, did he let himself hope. Then it was crushed under the weight of the logical conclusion that she could not respond because she did not feel the same. He was the subject of unrequited love. How… how could he have been so ignorant? Of course she would not feel the same. Erik was merely her friend, she had said so herself!

But the look he had seen in her eyes when she had told him she loved his song for her… no. That had to have been attraction, nothing more. She was a woman, subject to little fancies that were nothing like the love that he had hoped for. Obviously, that was all she felt for him. His heart nearly cracked into a million pieces when he looked again at her beautiful eyes and saw that they were looking anywhere but at him. Correction… anywhere but at his _face. _Realization dawned on him in one painful flash. _Of course. _It was his face. How could a woman as beautiful as Camillé possibly ever love someone with half a face? That damned mutation ruined everything! His mother, the people of the world above, the gypsies, Madame Giry… and now even his beloved Camillé, all of them couldn't stand to look at his face! He was a freak, a disturbance in their perfect worlds.

Camillé did not and never would love him. How could she? He was so far below her, undeserving of even a rogue that had left her home for honestly foolish reasons. Yet he loved her so dearly. She had been everything to him for a month… if not ever since she came to him. His heart simply could not comprehend her not loving him. But it was true. The woman he adored felt nothing for him. It would happen this way… that he would realize that he could never have love in his life. No one could ever love the Living Corpse.

* * *

She stood there, looking anywhere but his face. She couldn't possibly look into those beautiful blue eyes without breaking completely at his hurt expression. It would be hurt, she knew that. Anyone who loved someone who could not respond would be hurt and heartbroken. And then she pictured his pained expression, and felt her heart crack. Camillé could almost _hear _his forlorn sobs as she stayed there silent. It was torture on herself, not saying anything. She loved him. She _knew _that she loved him. Why, then, was she standing there like a statue? Suddenly, she managed to move. Back in control, she looked back at the man she loved, only to see him with his head down.

"_Je voix _(I see)," he said, in the softest whisper he could and still be heard.

Internally, she panicked. He thought she didn't love him! Oh, but she did! She loved him more than she'd ever loved anyone else, and if anything, it had only gotten worse over the past month. Her heart was completely his. All she had to do was tell him.

"Erik…" she began, stepping forward, but he interrupted her.

"_Non_," he cried bitterly, turning from her and waving a hand at her as if to dismiss her, "I have no need of your apologies. I understand now that my feelings are not returned. Just… just go. Leave me alone for a time. Perhaps I can compose myself before you return."

"But Erik…"

"Just go!" he cried again, turning and looking at her now in a mixture of pain and anger.

Her heart wrenched and she let out an involuntary sob. "I cannot."

He scoffed and walked away from her, dragging his hands through his hair as though fit to pull it out. "Why? Why do you mock me so? Can you not leave a man and his broken dreams in solitude?"

"No, I cannot. I cannot leave you, Erik. I do not think I have it in me to do so," she admitted, and he turned back to her.

"If this is your sympathetic side coming to meet me, tell her I have no need of her and she can return to the depths from whence she came."

Camillé simply shook her head, giving him a highly confusing, yet melancholy smile. "You don't understand. I do not wish to stay because I am sympathetic to your plight. I stay because I can alleviate it."

"No, _mon chat_, you cannot. If you do not love me in return, than you cannot aid me now," he said, the pain refocusing on his face.

"Then I may aid you a great deal."

Erik turned to look at her, confused and still hurt from his conclusion. "_Quoi_?"

"If aid to you is my love, than I can aid you a great deal," she repeated, smiling at him and taking another step towards him.

"Do not toy with words, Camillé. What is it you mean to say? Out with it, please," he begged her, and she saw a tear running down his unmasked cheek.

Without thinking, she stepped up to him and wiped the tear away with her thumb. He looked into her eyes and saw a gentle smile reflected there.

"Erik… oh, _mon _Erik _adorable _(my sweet Erik)… What has become of you? Have I done this to you?" she asked, her eyes taking a saddened look at her last question.

"Say what you mean to say, woman, and cease with your gentle torture," he muttered as he leaned his head into her hand, closing his eyes as more tears ran down his cheeks only for her to wipe them away.

Her thumb grazed over his cheekbone and he inhaled a shuddering breath. "_J'aime toi aussi, _Erik (I love you too). _J'ai t'aime toujours_, _et je t'aimerai toujours _(I have loved you always, and I will love you always)."

His eyes opened at her confession, and he looked down at her golden brown eyes in surprise. "_Vraiment_?"

"Truly," she repeated, grinning up at him.

Erik's heart was filled with relief and joy. She loved him. She really loved him. In a moment of elation, he picked her up and spun her around, laughing with her as they spun themselves dizzy. He set her down and pulled her close to him. They stayed there for a moment, locked in each other's arms, simply enjoying being together. Then she pulled back and looked up at him. Their gazes locked and she smiled. He began leaning down and she leaned up, out of instinct preparing to share their first kiss.

A gasp shook them both out of their heavenly moment and brought them straight back to reality. They glanced to the side and saw Madame Giry standing in one of the many entrances to the lair, giving them a silent, utterly confused and shocked look. Erik groaned lightly and rested his forehead against Camillé's.

"_Bien sûr _(Of course)," he breathed, and she only sighed.

They broke their embrace, but Erik kept a hand with hers, interlocking their fingers as they turned to look at Madame Giry. She examined the two of them for around a minute before she broke into a smile – or, at least, the best she could do of a smile.

"So you finally told her," the woman noticed and Erik nodded, "May I say that it took you long enough to tell her? I've been predicting this since you said you cared for her a month ago. I didn't think it would take you this long."

The man lowered his head as Camillé giggled beside him. That hit him, and he gave her a sideways look. She _giggled. _That, in itself, was out of the ordinary. Granted, nothing about today _was _ordinary. She smiled at him and they stood there, eyes locked for another minute. Madame Giry shook her head at their love-struck attitude, clearing her throat to get their attention. They snapped out of it and looked at her, expecting her to say something. In her expression, they could read that something was wrong and their joyful bliss was about to be shattered.

"Someone came to _la Populaire _asking if we had seen a woman like Camillé. The man they thought was _La Chat Noire _was proven innocent by an anonymous source. They're still out looking for you, girl," she told Camillé, who suddenly looked as if her world had come undone.

Without warning, anger overrode her features and she turned away, pulling her hand from Erik's. She walked a few steps away and leaned against the wall. A hand went up to her face, pressing the bridge of her nose and between her eyebrows. Erik walked over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Her hand came down and she looked him in the eyes, sighing heavily.

"Camillé, this is not the end of our world," he told her, and she smiled slightly when he said 'our world', "The _gens d'armes _do not know you're here, and I intend that they never find out. You are safe, _mon chat_."

Her smile turned melancholy as she shook her head. "Erik, I know who did this. He's done it before and he'll do it again. He intends to rat me out. I know him, probably better than I ought to. He'll come to meet me one of these days. It may take months, it may take only a week. It all depends on how he wants to play this. For now, I believe he won't come, but do not be surprised if we have a secret visitor one day soon."

Erik stiffened and gave her a hard look. "Who is this, Camillé?"

"An old friend of mine. He goes by _Rabe _(German: Raven)," she told him, and shook her head, "I don't know his real name. I don't think anyone does. But I know for a fact that this is his handiwork. He's done this to me before. He's trying to get my attention."

"Whatever for?"

"More than likely, he has a job of some kind that he wants my aid with. We've… made a good team in the past and my league tends to stick with people we know we work well with."

"Your… league?" he asked, stepping back from her.

She sighed, looking up into his eyes. "While I was in London, I worked with a league of thieves and rogues. We all had animal names – _Chat Noire, Rabe, Araignée_ (Spider),_ Donnola_ (Italian: Weasel)_ et _Wolfe. We all took names in our native language – I know where these people are from, but not much else, particularly about _Rabe. _He kept to himself constantly. I'm afraid there's not much else I can tell you. We'll have to wait until he comes to us."

"I do not like the idea that someone is looking for you," he told her with a stern look, "but I understand that you did not invite this and it is coming regardless. For the meantime, let us not worry about this," he said, turning and looking at Madame Giry, who turned and left with a smile as he gazed back into her eyes, "Let us rejoice in newfound love, _mon cœur_ (my heart)."

She smiled up at him, her heart warming at his nickname. "_Mon amour_ (My love), I think I can do that."

* * *

_So... how many of you are very, very happy?_

_Questions, comments, concerns? Good, bad, somewhere in between? I'd like to hear from all of you!_

_- Emmy_


	13. Trust

_Hello my dears! I'm sorry it's been so long since I've updated. School has kept me very busy. _

_Lady-Mariam: I am glad you are happy. I thought most people would be. You loved Erik dwelling in self-pity? Why? It might be short-lived, it might not. You'll have to see. Okay, let me explain this. Right now, Camillé is 24, and he is three years older than she is, making him 27. So, for the purposes of this story, for now, he is 27 years old. _

_Nibblesfan: You'll have to wait and see. But yeah, nothing's ever easy with Camillé. At least she'll keep him on his toes!_

_gogo2625: You love it! That makes me happy!_

_Keep reviewing! I love hearing what you all think! Please keep asking questions, and I will keep answering! I hope I won't be this long between chapters again. Good news, though, I've got Winter Break after next week, so I should be able to update more!_

_I'm listening to Pirates of the Caribbean and it's making me jumpy. Yikes. Davy Jones' and the Kraken. Eep._

* * *

**Recap: **She smiled up at him. "_Mon amour_ (My love), I think I can do that."

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Trust**

He grinned as he spun her around again and held her in his arms. She leaned against him for a moment, then looked up into his face. They began leaning in again, and finally, their lips touched. Camillé felt a blissful peace as she ran her hands up to his shoulders and kissed him softly. Erik grasped her waist in his hands and pulled her closer yet, wanting this single moment to never end. All their love culminated in this one kiss, and he knew now that she loved him entirely. Her kiss said all the words that she might never say.

The kiss deepened, and they pulled each other closer still. He loved her more than anything, and she returned the sentiments in kind. Erik wanted to hold her here forever. Then his mind was taken away from the kiss and Camillé by one simple occurrence. His mask began to slip upwards. Forced to break the kiss, he reached up to pull it back down, but stopped when he felt Camillé's fingers on his. He looked into her eyes, and saw her silent plea to him to trust her.

She knew that this was going to be hard. They had only just found that they loved each other, and this would be the last thing that he wanted. Yet… she wanted to see what he looked like, free of his mask. It was the only thing really keeping them apart. She knew that if he asked anything, she would tell him. All he had to do was ask. So, silently, she asked him to let her remove his mask. The look in his eyes told her that he was hesitant. He didn't want to risk losing her now.

She breathed slowly and deeply. "Erik, _je t'aime _(I love you). It does not matter to me what you think lies beneath this mask. It is you that I love, and therefore I love all of you. Erik, please… trust me."

"Camillé, you do not know what lies behind the mask… I cannot lose you. I do not want to lose the woman I love," he pleaded, "You mean everything to me. And you will leave me if you see what is behind this mask."

"No, Erik, I will not. Never could I leave you. Finally, I am _home_, Erik, and I would not leave you if offered the world in exchange. Nothing behind that mask could ward me away from you if it tried," she told him, smiling slightly, "You have my love and will have it forever."

He looked into her eyes for a moment, presumably looking for the lie in her words. Slowly, as if it was painful, he lowered his hands and closed his eyes. The uncovered half of his face grimaced, waiting for her to react with a scream and leave him. Tenderly, she pulled away the mask and put it in her right hand.

The flesh on the right side of his face was red and enflamed, as if it had been burnt. The natural contours of his face were bumped and ridged, giving it an appearance like blistered skin. Yet she reflected that it was not as horrible as he made it seem. Yes, it was deformed, and yes, it was quite different from the other side, but it was only different. It was not world-ending as he had made it seem. Her thumb reached up and grazed across his forehead, then cheekbone, and down to his jaw. His blue eyes opened in surprise and he tried to back away, but she set the mask down on the organ and kept his head there with her other hand.

"Now you see," he said, his voice sounding broken.

She nodded, a gentle smile on her face. "Now I see," she repeated, "the face of the man I love in its entirety."

Their eyes met, hers full of understanding and love, his of grief and disbelief. She leaned up and kissed him softly, as if she felt him the most beautiful creature in the world. His eyes widened as he realized that she truly meant it. Slowly, his hands fell to her waist and held her gently. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she pulled him close. When she broke the kiss, she grinned at him.

"_Tu es très loufoque_ (You are very silly), Erik," she told him, and he gave her a surprised look, "Your face is nothing as bad as you made it seem. In all honesty," she mentioned, "I have seen worse."

He looked at her in skepticism as she pulled herself out of his arms and led him into a dance to imaginary music. "Now you are simply denying its hideousness. I doubt that you have seen anything as bad as this."

She sighed and looked at the ceiling as he took the lead and they danced around her desk and his organ. "I know that for you, it is hard to believe, but trust me, your face is not as bad as you think it is, and I _have _seen worse."

He took the opportunity to quirk his eyebrow at her and pull her up to his chest.

"What could possibly be worse than this?"

She broke from his hold and stepped away. He smoothly spun her around and pulled her back into his arms. They stepped together in time for a moment before she caved to his gaze and answered.

"Many things… none of which I wish to remember."

He stopped their dance and looked down at her with a curious face. "Such as?"

Another sigh filled her lungs. "Torture. Having a knife taken to you. Cut, bruised, sliced, shaved of flesh… I have seen worse. Your face, compared to some of the things I have seen, is a welcome respite," she told him, and he saw in her eyes that she was not lying.

"Where have you seen such things, _mon cœur _(my heart)? Where have you been?" he asked, concerned about her.

She took a deep breath. "In the wrong place at the wrong time."

He gave her a look which spoke volumes. It told her that now that she had seen his face, she had to tell him. She smiled nervously and nodded, dragging him by the hand towards her bedroom. Camillé sat cross-legged on the swan bed and Erik sat beside her against the head. She turned herself to face him and saw that he had the same expression as before. In an attempt to avoid his eyes, she looked down at their hands, turning his over and playing with it gently.

* * *

This was not an event she wanted to share with him. But yet… he had trusted her. Perhaps it was time to trust him with some little fact about Wolfe. Why the man had deserved to die when she had killed him. It wasn't a pleasant memory, but there were very few memories she had of Wolfe that were pleasant. Most of them were his bringing her into the world that she had lived in for so long. It had been years since then. Since he had introduced her to the real world. The twisted, perverted, sick side of the world she'd been innocently living in for so long. He had changed her life that night, and opened her eyes to the world she hadn't wanted to see.

If only it had been Wolfe who made her who she was. But no… that was someone else. Someone far closer to her. Someone only she knew.

* * *

"It was six years ago. I was only eighteen at the time," she began, after many minutes of silence, "but I thought that I had matured far beyond what any girl my age would ever grow to. This was before all of my worse assignments and before… my first murder. Anyway, I was spending my time with the guild – I'd moved to _Angleterre _six months before. They thought I was quite useful. I was small, quick, and agile, able to get in and out of hard-to-get places faster than anyone else. It was around the middle of summer when they asked me to help them with my first major… assignment really is the only word for it – my first major assignment. I was asked by Wolfe to help him track down a group that had been known for their less-than-lacking-finesse methods of taking hostages," she explained, letting out a breathy laugh, "Not that Wolfe was any better than they were."

Erik let her fall silent for a moment before he asked, "What happened?"

"Well, I took him up on his offer. We were getting paid a fair amount for this, I thought it would be worth it. I didn't understand why everyone thought Wolfe was so horrible for taking me on this mission. I understand now. When we finally tracked them down, they were working in a warehouse by the ports on the edge of the Thames. God… that place was the closest I have ever come to understanding Hell. There were people all over the place, in separate… cages, and they had them divided up by family – I think it was just to add to their torture. In the back there was a torture chamber, only it was open to the rest of the warehouse so everyone could clearly hear them scream. It was bad enough seeing the people they _had_ tortured.

"They were cut up and bruised to the point that if we had known them, we probably wouldn't have recognized them. Some of them were missing body parts, like ears and fingers. One of the men we passed had one of his eyes gouged out. It smelled horrible, I remember I was constantly gagging. But if that wasn't bad enough, fate made it worse. We had snuck in during one of their torture sessions. We had to wait until they had dispersed to take them out… so we had to watch.

"Erik… it was horrible. They had a woman in a metal chair. Her dress was ripped and she was crying. I could see that they had whipped her at some point, like a lot of the people there. Oh god… what he was doing to her… it was horrific. And he laughed, Erik. The torturer _laughed_. No matter how long it's been, I can still see that woman's face and hear her screams as he cut into her with that jagged knife. I can hear the man's sick laughter and his expression of glee when she screamed… I can even see the face of her husband as he begged them to let her go. I wish they had let her go, Erik. I wish they had."

His eyes were full of a shocked pity as he pulled her into his arms and let her lay there with her head on his chest for a moment. "Camillé… _mon cœur, _why did he do this to you? Why? Why were you there?"

She took a shuddering breath. "Because Wolfe thought it was time for me to grow up."

He pushed her away from him just enough so he could see her face. "How could something like that help you to grow up? It would destroy most."

"I had only been doing thieving. Some jobs here and there inside houses and shops. If I hadn't have knocked him out that one day, I think he might have left me alone. I'd been with them for six months, Erik. Obviously the four months he spent training me added up for something. I guess he thought it was time for me to see the real world I was living in. To prove that I was ready to be in it."

There was a moment's silence. "And he brought you along on this mission to give you a chance to prove that you were."

"He did. I could not truly prove myself then, though. That was just the beginning. It was later that I finally proved myself," she said in a quiet voice.

Erik pulled her close again and held her there. "What did you do?"

She froze and pulled away from him completely. "Can we talk about this at a later time? Please?"

"Of course," he breathed.

* * *

She had shared this with him, but he could tell from the look in her eyes that something more had happened that he had yet for her to tell him. As much as he wanted to know, he knew that the subject of Wolfe was one of the most tender for her. Something was blocking her from being comfortable with the subject of her old colleague. Perhaps something he had done to her? No, that didn't seem right. Something he had forced her to do. That had to be it. He had forced her to do something that had changed her. More than just this showing her the dark side of the world, it had truly changed her. Made her into the person that he had seen the first time he ever laid eyes on her.

Something that had turned her into a murderer.

* * *

_What do you all think about this dive into Camillé's past? _

_Keep reviewing! Any questions, comments, concerns? Want to rant about the fact that Camillé is still keeping things from Erik?_

_- Emmy_


	14. Four Months Later

_Alright, because I'm so late with this, you get another chapter. Enjoy! _

* * *

**Recap:** _Camillé told Erik about her time with Wolfe. And she took off his mask. Eeek. Also: FIRST KISS!_

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: Four Months Later**

Camillé cast a sneaky glance at him and took careful aim. It was now that she thanked Wolfe, despite her hatred for him, for all the shooting and fighting lessons that he had given her all those years ago. They were certainly coming in handy. She stayed perfectly silent as she squinted her eyes, trying to determine just how hard she would need to throw. The snowflakes fell around her and her target, making it harder to see, but no harder to determine. When she thought she had her measurements right, she paused for a split second, took a breath, and threw it. It flew through the air for a second before hitting him square in the back of the head. Erik jumped and turned around quickly, glaring playfully at her.

"Oh, really?" he asked, taking a moment to wipe the snow from the hood of his cloak.

She smirked, nodding. "Yes, really."

"You do not want to start this with me, _mon cœur,_" he warned.

She pretended to think about for a minute, then grinned, nodding her head. "I think I do."

"Do not say I did not warn you," Erik told her with a smile, bending down to get a handful of snow from the roof beneath them.

Camillé saluted him with a wink and ran off, trying to get away from him before he threw the snowball at her. Suddenly, something cold hit her in the small of her back. She yelped and spun around, only to see the snow of the roof. Erik was gone. Her eyes widened as she realized that she had just made the unfortunate mistake of engaging in a snowball fight with the Opera Ghost. It had been a long time since she had dealt with his ghost-like qualities, and she had almost forgotten they were there. And now they were making a prevalent come back. Silently, she cursed herself as she backed up, hoping that he wasn't behind her. Another snowball hit her in the back of the head and she squeaked, sounding less like a cat and more like a mouse at that moment. She spun around as his musical laughter surrounded her.

"Come now, Erik, that's not fair! I can't see you!" she protested, and he only laughed more.

"That would be the point, Camillé," he retorted.

She huffed and ran behind a statue, trying to hide herself. She looked to her left and saw Erik standing behind another, looking at the sky, then turned the other direction. For a moment, she patted herself on the back for catching him unaware. Her hands cupped and molded the snow, making the perfect snowball. He turned around and she hid behind the statue again. She did not hear his movements, but suddenly he was standing before her, smirking.

"There you are –"

He was interrupted in the middle of his sentence by her impulsive action. She pulled him close by the front of his shirt and kissed him passionately. Just as he was responding and about to rest his hands on her waist, she dropped the snowball in her other hand down the front of his shirt. As he froze for a moment, she turned and fled from him, laughing as she ran. His booming voice called her name and she sped up. A quick glance behind her told her that Erik was following her. She ran around one of the low glass structures, and her beloved stopped on the opposite side. A devilish smile was on his face, intent upon catching his love and exacting his revenge. Whenever he moved to one side or another, she moved in the opposite direction, then he would follow her to that direction.

In a split second decision, she sprinted to left while he was going towards the right. She didn't get very far before his arms wrapped around her middle and spun her around in the snow. His grip broke for a second and she tried to get away from him, but he grasped her elbow and turned her to face him, pulling her into his chest… his very cold, very wet chest. She squirmed in his hold about her waist, but he stayed fast, immovable to her. Finally she gave up and looked up at him with a pout.

"I dislike you, Erik," she told him, and he simply laughed at her expression.

He leaned down to her, brushing her lips with his. "Lying is a bad practice, _mon chat_," he reprimanded her before kissing her lightly.

Camillé relaxed in his arms and reached up, wrapping her arms about his neck as they stood there in the snow. Suddenly, the back of her shirt was lifted and a freezing hand of snow was placed on the small of her back. She yelped and pulled away from Erik as fast as she could, trying to get the snow out of her shirt as it melted. His musical laughter met her ears and she turned to glare at him. Her eyes narrowed more the more he laughed, and she stopped trying to get the snow out, her gaze fixed on him. Erik looked up and raised his eyebrow at her expression before standing up straight to analyze her posture. Before he could, she pounced and knocked him on his back in the snow.

Erik looked up into the face of his cat and saw the smug expression she wore. Her hood had flown off in her flight and the snow was falling in her loose black hair. The cloak he had gotten for her at the beginning of winter was draped over both their legs. He looked into her deep brown eyes with their flecks of gold and smirked.

Camillé looked down at her beloved and scoffed. Of course, he would be smirking about their position. She had fallen around him in such a way that her hands were on either side of his chest and she was straddling his lap. His hood had fallen back and was laying under his head, while his cloak had splayed out beneath them in the snow. She was leaning over him, which protected his face from the falling flakes. With an unamused look, she sat up to get off of him, but he pulled her hand and brought her back down on top of him. He leaned up slightly and kissed her. At the soft feeling of his kiss, she gave up and leaned down to him.

A few minutes later, she was helping him up of the snow and aiding him in dusting off his cloak. He turned to look at her when she hit him on the rear end as she walked by. He pulled her back and into his chest forcefully.

"Come now, Camillé, be reasonable. You wouldn't want to tease the Phantom of the Opera, now would you?" he murmured in her ear, and she turned to face him.

She gave him her sweetest smile. "But I don't know the Phantom. I do know Erik, though. And trust me, I would," she whispered against his lips, before turning and running to the door.

With a sly wink, she fled inside. A grin crossed his face as he raced after her, both making no sound as they hurried down the steps and towards the nearest entrance to the passageways back home. They were both on the second floor, and he had caught her pulling her against him and spinning her around. Someone cleared their throat and the two froze. They turned, Erik with his hand on his lasso and Camillé with her fingers on her knives. Yet it was only Madame Giry standing there with a stern look on her face.

"How long have the two of you been in love?" she asked, and they could tell this was the beginning of a lecture.

"_Depuis Septembre _(Since September)… four months," Camillé answered her.

Madame Giry nodded. "And do you want to lose each other?"

Erik brought Camillé into his arms and she smiled slightly. "I will _not_ lose her," he answered, with a tone that gave no room for argument.

"I was not saying you would, but you will if you continue being careless. Now go, both of you, back to your home and remember; Camillé is in constant danger. Despite the silence we've had, you know that it's too risky. You could both be seen and caught. Be careful. Now go," she told them, and they turned and went into the passageways.

Camillé rolled her eyes as she dragged Erik along by his hand on their way home. "I swear, that woman treats us like children. 'Go to your room, it's not safe outside,' she says. Ha! We are adults, does she think we do not know that we are not safe? Honestly, I had enough of being told what to do from my mother when I was but a child. I don't need it from her too," she scoffed as they entered the lair, "If we were really so naïve, we would have been caught months ago! What does she think we are, idiots?"

Erik chuckled as she walked away from him towards her room and spun off her cloak, laying it on her bed and let herself fall onto the bed, her arms and legs spread out around her. He shook his head, taking his own cloak off and laying it on his organ bench before ascending the stairs to her room. She looked up and he was standing against the wall with his arms crossed, smiling at her.

"You know she only warns us because she does not want us to _be_ caught. I think she has grown fond of you, Camillé," he reasoned, stepping over and sitting beside her on her bed.

She scoffed. "Since when is Madame Giry fond of me?"

"I think she started becoming fonder of you when she realized what you mean to me," he told her, laying down beside her and laying out his arm, a silent signal for her to turn on her side and curl into him.

"Yes, but keep in mind; this is the woman who called me _une pute _upon first meeting me," she reminded him, laying her hand on his chest.

Erik sighed and rolled himself to face her, resting his head on his hand. "When will you let that go? That was five months ago, _mon cœur_. Since then, she has seen who you are. You are my love and that is all she needs to know," he murmured, brushing some stray hairs behind her ear and letting his fingers linger on her face.

"_Je sais, je sais _(I know, I know). But it was so infuriating at the time, and it spurred one of our worst fights. I just…"

"It is not as if she _meant _to start an argument between us. I know that she did not. It was merely a mistake on my part that caused us to fight so badly the night you left."

"_Non_," she contradicted him, "It was my fault and you know it. I should not have been so sensitive. You were right and I should have accepted that."

He laughed lightly and took her hand in his, kissing it. "I think we can agree that we were both at fault, as we have done many times in the past."

"_D'accord _(Alright)," she agreed with a chuckle, "_D'accord_. We were both at fault and we have put our differences behind us. Now, on to happier subjects. It is nearing _Noël _(Christmas), _mon amour_," she mentioned with a smile.

He rolled his eyes. "We have been over this time and time again, Camillé. I have not celebrated _Noël_ before and therefore do not know what I desire."

She sat up and looked down at him. "How could you _not _know what you desire? There must be something you want, Erik."

"I do not know," he said, sitting up with her, "If I knew, I would tell you."

It was Camillé's turn to roll her eyes. "So there is nothing you want. Nothing in this world that strikes your fancy more than anything else?"

"There is one thing that 'strikes my fancy' more than anything else, but I already have it," he told her, taking both her hands in his.

She looked into his eyes and saw his meaning, making her laugh. "Erik, that is the most _banal ligne _(unoriginal line)!" she accused, "Could you not think of anything more original to say?"

"When it comes to you, I cannot think of anything at all," he crooned, and she groaned.

"That line is worse than the last. Where do you get these things?"

He gave her a you-should-know-this look. "We live beneath _une Maison d'Opera_, _mon cœur. _ Nothing that comes out of there is original."

"But you could not have thought up something more… oh, poetic?" she asked, and he scoffed.

"Poetry is your specialty. I _can _write poetry, but you are far more skilled than I."

She stood up and walked towards the back of the room. "It is not the quality of the poem that matters, but the person writing it," she mentioned as his step quickly followed hers, "Now could you be a dear and help me out of my bodice? It's getting a bit tight."

His cheeks turned slightly pink as he stepped up to help her and began unlacing her bodice. "That would be because you are gaining some much needed weight, _mon chat_."

She gasped dramatically as she looked up at him in shock. "What do you mean, 'gaining weight'? Are you trying to say –"

"I am trying to say that you have finally gained some weight. When you came here, you were so skinny you looked uncannily like a young man. Were it not for the bodice, I would have thought you one. Now that you have been here for six – _seven_ months, you have actually been eating well enough to gain some weight. I find it refreshing to see you with a feminine figure," he whispered in her ear as he removed her bodice and laid it on the chair beside them.

Her eyes widened at the undertone of his statement and she almost flushed. "I am glad to hear you enjoy my figure, Erik," she teased, walking away while swaying her hips more than usual.

"It is far better than you not having one," he told her as he walked past her and ran his hand down her arm to kiss her hand before he exited the room.

* * *

_Yes, they're flirting. That's just the way they are._

_Keep reviewing! Any questions, comments, concerns? Want to speak to Erik and Camillé? They'll talk to you too!_

_- Emmy_


	15. Marriage Talks

_So... Erik and Camillé are being cute, huh?_

_Nibblesfan: Erik is blushing thanks to you. Camillé is thanking you for making him blush. He never seems to for her._

_gogo2625: Yes, they are perfect, aren't they? If only it stayed that way..._

_On that ominous note, ENJOY!_

* * *

**Recap: **"It is far better than you not having one," he told her as he walked past her and ran his hand down her arm to kiss her hand before he exited the room.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: Marriage Talks**

Camillé smiled as he left, enjoying their flirting. At times, it was playful, and then there were times like this when Erik was quite forward with her. Granted, she was just as forward as he was. It was an interesting way for them to keep things light and loving, but address the fact that they were undeniably attracted to one another. She removed her boots and walked out of the room towards where Erik was standing at the entrance of their lair. Her hand slid over his back and rested on his arm as she stood beside him.

"_Comment c'est passé_ (What happened)?" Camillé asked, and he took her hand in his and looked down at her.

"_Ecouter _(Listen)," he told her.

She did as he asked, and heard a squeal and a bunch of giggling girls. Then there was a great commotion and someone sighed. Suddenly, one of the girls exclaimed to the others, 'I am getting married!' Camillé smiled.

"So one of the ballet girls is engaged," she noted, "How sweet."

He looked down at her. "You think so?"

"_Bien sûr. _Someone getting married is always sweet. I would not want to be married myself, but I understand the appeal," she said as she pulled away from Erik and walked away.

His eyebrows furrowed and he followed her. "You do not want to be married to someone?"

"Considering my previous experiences with engagements and people wanting to marry me, I think I would rather avoid that," she reasoned, sitting down at her desk and picking up a pen.

"And… what if it were someone you truly loved… say, myself, asking for your hand in marriage?" he asked, taking the pen from her hand.

"Erik," she started, sounding startled, "what are you asking?"

"If, hypothetically, I were to ask for your hand in marriage, what would you say then?" he said, twirling the feather pen in his fingers and focusing on it instead of her.

She cocked her head to the side. "That depends. How long have we been together by this point?"

"Let us say… a year?"

"Well, my answer would likely be… well… I don't know. How much do we love each other?"

He looked down into her eyes. "Let us say that you are my entire world; I love you more than anything."

"_D'accord, _and how much do I love you?"

"I would like to think you love me as much as I love you."

"In that case," she drawled, "I think I would say yes. But," she said when he smiled at her, "we would have to have been together a long time and you would have to be deeply and completely in love with me and understand my hesitation towards the whole marriage idea _and _you would have to promise me that you would wait for me to be ready to marry you."

He smiled down at her and knelt down beside her desk chair. "I could meet all but one of those requirements, _mon cœur._"

"Oh really? And what is that?" she asked, a bright smile on her face.

Erik leaned forward and kissed her softly. "We have not been together long enough yet by your standards."

He handed her back her pen and left her there in silent awe from his words. Something in how he'd said that almost sounded like he would be waiting for that day. It made her smile that he wanted to marry her, despite her claims that she was not ready to be married. She put her pen to paper and wrote multiple love poems in one go. Only he could have made her write so much of love. He had, without words, told her that he would wait for her and that he loved her completely. But… he didn't know her well enough yet. Still, she had loved him before she'd ever seen his face. Speaking of which…

She got up and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing him on the side of the jaw. "Erik… you have forgotten something."

"What is it that I have forgotten, Camillé?" he asked, kissing her hand in front of his face.

"This," she simply stated, before taking off his mask and laying it on the organ.

Erik didn't flinch or wince, merely groaned as he turned to face her. "What is it you hate so much about my mask? Ever since you took it off for the first time four months ago, you've been making me keep it off. Why do you hate it so?"

"It hides you from me, _mon amour_. You wear that mask to hide from the world, I do not want you to hide from me. I don't hide from you," she reminded him, pressing a long kiss to his lips, relishing in the feeling of the mask-less kiss, "Much better."

He hummed slightly and pulled her back for a few more kisses. "I cannot help but agree that it is much easier to kiss you without my mask, but I would much prefer not to have any unwanted visitors to see me without my mask."

"Oh, so Madame Giry is unwanted now?" she teased, sitting on his lap while he held her there around her waist, "I thought she was 'one of the few people you trust in this place.'"

"Do not use my own words against me, please."

"But I am right, am I not? You are using an invalid excuse."

"Camillé, do not push me."

"But I enjoy pushing you."

He scoffed. "I noticed."

She smiled sweetly and he kissed her again, deepening the kiss almost instantly. Her arms wrapped around his neck while his tightened around her waist. They sat this way for some time before he pulled away and rested his forehead against hers, both lost for breath.

"_Je t'aime, _Camillé," he whispered to her,

"_Je t'aime aussi_."

* * *

Camillé stretched as she sat up and saw that Erik had left her a note on her bedside table. She picked it up and read the note in his scrawling handwriting.

_'Bon Matin, mon amour (Good morning, my love). _

_ As much as I would like to say good morning to you myself, you are sleeping in much too late. Please, do accept this as my letter of apology for not being home upon your awakening. I have urgent business to attend to dans la ville (in the city) and will not be back for a few hours. I promise to return before le diner (supper) tonight. _

_ Je t'aime, _

_ Erik'_

She sighed and set the letter back down on her bedside table. As she stretched again, she realized that this meant he was out getting something important for them. As she stood and walked into the main cavern, she noticed that he had left a single red rose on her desk. She smiled as she picked it up and read the note beneath it, detailing that he missed her already and that he promised to be back. Her smile grew as she sat down at her table and began to write a poem. This time, it was a poem of music, something with rhythm and meter, meant to be turned into a song. When she had finished, she picked up her poem and placed it on his organ, knowing that he enjoyed turning her poems into songs because she loved hearing them. He would play them for her as he created them, and eventually he would play her the song and sing it to her.

As she leaned over his organ she felt a cold breath by her neck. Erik may have been the Opera Ghost, but he wasn't cold. She froze and stayed perfectly still and silent. The breath behind her ear chuckled lightly and blew again.

"_Guten Tag_, _Chat Noire _(German: Good Day/Hello)."

Her eyes widened as she recognized the voice of the man who she had known over a year ago. "_Guten Tag_, _Rabe_ (Hello, Raven)."

"Been quite some time since we last saw each other, hasn't it, _Liebling _(Darling)?" he said in perfect English.

She spun around and looked at him. "I am not your darling and never have been. Now why are you here, _Rabe_?"

"Can't a man come see his lady?" he teased as she walked away from him.

"I am _not _your lady. I'm nothing to you, remember?" she sneered as she walked back up to her bedroom to get her knives.

"Oh, come on," he groaned, following her, "You're still smarting over my rejection of you to Wolfe? Come on, I was only saying it so he'd get off our backs! You know I love you really."

She scoffed at his teasing. "Right. And because you love me _so _much, you're putting me and Erik in danger?"

"Erik? So that's your suitor's name?" he asked, leaning against the wall as she changed behind a curtain.

"Yes, that's his name. How'd you know he was my suitor? Actually, how did you know I was here?" she retorted as she came out from behind the curtain in her regular leggings and pirate shirt.

He shrugged. "You were obvious."

"How so?" she questioned, walking by him to go back down to the main cavern.

_Rabe _grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. "You thought I would miss your little tryst on the roof? Really, _Noire_, you know me better than that."

"Yes, I do. Doesn't mean I'm happy about it," she clipped, pulling herself away from him.

He groaned. "Come on, _Liebling, _stop being so cold to me. I've got a mission for you, anyway."

"I'm not interested."

"What do you mean; you're not interested? You're _always _interested," he reminded her, and she spun around to face him.

"I am not interested anymore. Not in a mission and not in you."

He let out a long breath and placed his hand over his heart. "That smarts, _Noire_. And here I was, thinking you'd be happy to see me after a year. You've had a long enough break from the field. Come on, get back into the old rhythm. We miss you – I miss you."

"You don't miss me, you don't miss anyone," she scoffed and he pulled her into him and braced her against the wall.

"I missed you more than I was willing to admit, _meine Liebe _(my love)," he whispered, pressing his lips to the side of her neck.

Camillé pressed her hands to his chest and tried to push him away, but he wouldn't let her. In a last ditch effort, she dug her nails into his chest, but he only moaned and pressed closer to her. Once, she would have enjoyed this, but now it was merely disgusting. He ran his hands along her sides and she could feel him wanting her. She complained and tried kneeing him where it would hurt, but he blocked her attempts. Then she heard something drop and she looked to her right with a pained expression. There, in the entrance to their lair, stood a very _livid _Erik.

* * *

_I would just like to take this moment to mention that NO, Erik and Camillé DID NOT sleep together in this chapter and have not slept together. Yet. _

_Any questions, comments, concerns? Want to rant? Write a review! Don't be a silent reader!_

_- Emmy_


	16. Rabe

_You know, I have a lot of inspiration this weekend. Let's keep things going, shall we?_

* * *

**Recap:** _Okay, so in the last chapter, Rabe showed up and things went downhill from there and Erik has just arrived._

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: _Rabe_**

He walked with large strides to their side, where he pulled _Rabe _off of her with force and suddenly her old colleague was on the ground with a lasso about his neck, near to being killed. She realized then that Erik meant to kill him. She couldn't let that happen. Despite all he'd done, _Rabe _didn't deserve to die.

"Erik! Erik, please don't!" she pleaded, still in English, and he looked at her with flaming eyes, "Erik, let him go!"

"_Pourquoi_? Why should Erik let him go?" he snarled back to her and she was only momentarily thrown by his use of the third person, "Why should Erik let the man who was going to hurt his _cœur_ go?"

"Because he doesn't deserve to die! I know what you're thinking, but there's a reason for all of this! I can explain; just please _let him go_!"

Erik looked at her for a moment, then leaned down to _Rabe_'s ear. "Consider yourself lucky that Erik has her, or you would be dead, _monsieur_."

The moment the lasso was off of his neck, _Rabe _began coughing and wheezing. She knelt down and checked on him as Erik walked away towards the bag he had dropped from his trip to town. _Rabe _looked up at her and raised an eyebrow.

"_That's _your new suitor?" he asked, and she laughed lightly.

"Yes, that's my new suitor. I apologize, he's not usually like this," she told him as she got up from her knee and approached Erik.

"Who is that, _mon cœur_?" he spat, his French fast and angry.

"He is the old friend I told you about. That is _Rabe_."

He looked at the man through the corner of his eye and crossed his arms. "You have an interesting definition for 'old friend.'"

She winced at the tone in his voice. "He was once my suitor. Now, he means nothing to me. He can try to rekindle all he likes, nothing will happen."

"That is a fair bit more than rekindling, _mon chat_. He was going to rape you," he reminded her in a low tone.

"_Non_, he –" she was stopped by the look in Erik's eyes as he glared her down, "_D'accord, _so he might have been, but he is still basing his actions on the relationship we had a year ago."

"You would have let him rape you a year ago?" he asked, incredulous.

She looked down at the floor. "It would not have been rape."

Erik looked at her with furrowed eyebrows. "You were lovers?"

"Not quite. It is difficult to explain. Only know that he means nothing to me and you are everything to me. He will never be anything ever again in my eyes," she assured him, and he nodded.

"Fine. Now, I suppose now would be an ideal time to speak in _anglais, _would it not? _Oder vielleicht auf Deutsch _(Or perhaps in German)?" he asked as they walked back over to where _Rabe _was now standing.

She gave him a sideways look. "Just how many languages do you speak, Erik?"

"Enough," he replied, before switching to English and saying to _Rabe_, "So you are the one who's threatening my love."

"Not threatening, really. More like proposing a deal to," he explained, before smiling at Camillé, "I told you I've got a mission I'd like your help with, _Noire_."

"You said you had a mission for me," she retorted, crossing her arms, "That doesn't mean I'd be _helping _you with a mission."

He rolled his eyes. "A'right, so I've got a mission I'd like your help with. You in?"

"That depends. Where is the mission and what is it?"

"It's back in London, and it's a simple 'go take out these people' one. I know you do those really well," he told her.

"No. I'm not going back to London. My home is here now," she replied, leaving no room for argument.

"Well, then, you'll miss out on the major heist. It's perfectly suited to you, too," he said in a sing-song voice, and she tensed.

She enjoyed heists, she couldn't deny that. "What heist?" she asked, unable to stop herself.

"We're taking a few things from the London Art Gallery. They're showing some pretty expensive stuff in there right now. I know you're not interested, but it's a pretty big haul."

She cast a sideways glance at Erik, and saw him looking down at her suspiciously. "How big?"

Erik's expression changed to one of disbelief. "You are not actually considering this, are you, Camillé?"

She winced and looked back at _Rabe. _"How big?"

He smiled, knowing she was caught now. "Big enough to land us in the middle of voluptuous upper society. We could buy a mansion with this much, _Noire, _one for each of us."

He mouth uncontrollably fell open. "You're kidding. You're pulling my leg, you've got to be."

"No, I'm not. There's really that much in store for you. If you really wanted that, it could set you and your man here for life."

"It could set us for life…" she whispered, and Erik's hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Camillé, think about this," he begged her, reverting to French so _Rabe _couldn't listen in, "Do you want to go back to your old life now? You were running your entire life, _mon cœur._ Perhaps you should stay here. You are happy here, are you not?" she nodded, "You have love here, do you not?" she nodded again, "Then what more are you wanting for?"

For a moment, Camillé was in thought. Yes, he was right. She was happy here. She had a home, and love, and everything she wanted. This was her home. What more could she want? What was drawing her to this mission? She knew the answer to that already. It was what she was used to; the way her life had always worked before she had come here. But now that she was here, wasn't her life different?

Erik had changed everything by coming into her life. Ever since he had taken her in, she hadn't wanted to return to her old life and had been living away from it. Now it was back to haunt her. She felt the desire somewhere in her to return, but it was small enough that she love she had for Erik and her new life was overwhelming it. Yes, she had some inkling that this would be good for her, but Erik had drowned it out simply by putting his hand on her shoulder. No. She wouldn't return to her old life. This was her life now, and she was going to live it, regardless of all else.

"Nothing," she whispered to him, before turning to _Rabe, _"I'm not coming. You'll have to find someone else to do your mission with. Tell the league I'm retired. I assume by now you know what became of Wolfe."

"Yes, we do. And we weren't surprised. Somehow, we always knew it would be you who finally took him out. The protégé always outdoes the master in this trade. Well, if that's your final answer for me," he started, and she nodded, wrapping her hand around Erik's, "Then I suppose I had better get going. Do something for me, _Noire._"

"What?"

"Don't forget who you really are," he told her, and with a distinctive look into her eyes, he left out the exit to the surface.

She froze. The meaning of his words were not lost on her. No, she caught their meaning quite perfectly… and instantly wished she hadn't. Who she really was, in his eyes. Her dark side. As if he'd had to tell her. If it _were _possible to forget that side of herself, she would have jumped at the chance months, even years ago. Maybe even when it first arrived in her. But no, she couldn't forget who she was to him and to the rest of the league. She couldn't get away from it. It followed her and had a mind of its own, speaking to her as if it owned her and she were nothing more than its toy. This side of her would never be forgotten, because it would never leave her.

No, it would never leave her. Once she had felt this side of life and understood what it means to be this way, it hadn't left her the same as when she started. She would never forget and she would always be this way.

She pulled her hand from Erik and walked into her bedroom, waving a hand at him to tell him not to follow her. This was something she could only face alone, because she didn't want him to see this. This side of her that was twisted and distorted beyond belief. This side of her that had been awakened by the man who had just left her. This side of her she was always hiding behind a wall.

This side of her that was dead.

* * *

_Yes, Camillé has a dead side. You'll meet more of her later. And she will be explained in time._

_Any questions, comments, concerns? Do you think Camillé is hiding something major from Erik? Let me know! Don't be a silent reader!_

_- Emmy_


	17. La Chat Noire

_Nibblesfan: What is Camillé hiding? Something very, very dark. And you're going to meet her. _

* * *

**Recap: **_Rabe told her not to forget who she really was, and Camillé freaked out._

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen: La Chat Noire**

Erik waited a few minutes, then walked up into her bedroom to check on her. She was leaning against the wall in the back of the room, her eyes downcast and her fingertips on the bridge of her nose. He walked forward and her eyes shot up to meet him. Her eyes weren't the usual color. All of the golden light had faded from them and they were purely a deep brown, almost black. It almost frightened him.

This was not the Camillé he knew. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. Her eyes reminded him not of a wild animal, not of a crazed psychopath, but of an emotionless, soulless, cold-blooded, logical, calculating killer. This was not the same woman who had kissed him so passionately the night before. This was not his beloved. No, this was someone completely new that he didn't know. He hadn't met this woman before. She frightened him; looking so much like his beloved and yet he knew they were nothing alike. This was the side of her that he hadn't seen, and a part he was unsure he wanted to.

* * *

Camillé had felt her stir. She had felt the person inside her soul come awake and return to life. Damn _Rabe _for waking up the side of her that Erik didn't need to see. The side of her she didn't _want _Erik to see. This side of her was insane, this side of her was cold and lifeless, made only to do as it had to. She tried, she tried to push down the insanity that he had woken up in her. Yet she knew that it wouldn't leave, nor could she control it. Her emotions cooled and she numbed over, knowing that her mind was leaving it all behind. She was truly becoming _la Chat Noire_; the rogue, seductress, the murderess. Nothing rang in her mind but revenge. Giving those who deserve it what they deserve.

She heard his step and looked up at him, her face emotionless. The man she loved was before her, but her head blocked all feeling. She had been this way for so many years, it was simple for her to revert to the way she had been. Her heart was closed. Locked away until her mindset passed. Emotion was not a part of her mindset. After she had lost _Araignée_ to _De Manu Mortis, _nothing had been the same. Her life had been ripped apart by these people and her mind sought only one thing, shutting off all else. She sought her revenge. And she achieved it.

* * *

Erik watched Camillé carefully, as if watching someone unstable. He could tell that she was no longer there, that something had happened to the woman he loved. He had seen the same change in himself when he had lost his mind in Persia. Yet now he was seeing it in his sweet Camillé. He wished there were something he could do, but he knew that this was a flashback to her past. Still, he could not stand here and do nothing. If she stayed this way, he may not be able to retrieve her.

"Camillé?" he asked softly, "Camillé, are you alright?"

Her voice was flat. "I am perfectly fine. I believe it is time for me to go."

"Where are you going?"

She turned and picked up her bodice, lacing it in front and pulling the laces tighter than before. Her bodice didn't fit as it used to, but she paid it no heed as she pulled out each of her knives and checked them. All there, all sharp, and all fit for use. Good. She would need them where she was going.

Erik took another step towards her and she held out her hand, turning to him. "If you wish to retain your life, Erik, you will stay far away from me."

His earlier theory that this was a memory from her past taking over her mind was knocked away the moment she said that. They had not met in her past, so it would have been only basic facial recognition, not the full knowledge of who he was. But no, she knew him. So what was going on with his love?

* * *

She looked at the man that her heart was claiming loved her behind the wall she had captured it in. She began to advance on him, and like a good man, he backed up and let her pass by him. She knew that he posed no threat, but she could never be too careful. One thought she posed no threat until she unleashed her fury on them. Or worse, unleashed nothing at all. She stayed upright and powerful as she passed him by, stepping down the incline until she was at the bottom, at which point she turned to face him and bade him goodnight.

His eyes widened as he realized that this soulless version of Camillé was going out into Paris. That would result in unnecessary deaths, he knew that. Erik raced down the incline and stood between her and the exit she was walking towards. The woman stilled mid-step and cocked her head sideways, looking at him through narrowed eyes.

"You are in my way," she said, in a low, level tone.

"Yes, I am. You cannot leave, I know what will happen if you do."

"I cannot leave?" she hissed.

He swallowed at her anger and shook his head. "No, you cannot."

A demented smile spread across her face. "You think you can stop me?"

In one swift movement, she pulled one of her knives from her bodice and threw it at him. He dodged the projectile and grabbed Camillé's waist as she tried to slip by him. Two more knives were pulled out and she attempted to stab him, but he caught her wrists and held her there.

"Camillé, listen to me –"

She laughed at him cruelly. "I listen to no man!" she declared as she pulled her hands from his grasp with a force he didn't know she had and pushed him away from her.

He stumbled back and reached out, grabbing her wrist and spinning her to face him. She came with one knife out, but he quickly knocked it out of her hand, allowing the Phantom to overtake him. To fight _la Chat Noire_, he had to be like her. She pulled another knife out and sliced into his hand – not enough to leave a permanent mark, but enough to make him release her. He hissed in pain and grasped her wrist again, not allowing her to leave the scene. She pushed against his hand with her free one and when she found she couldn't get loose, she punched him in the nose.

He reeled for only a moment as his mask was knocked off. It fell to the floor, but thankfully did not shatter as he pulled her further towards him. He was holding both of her wrists now, but she knocked one of his legs off and knocked him to the ground. Somehow, she managed to not damage him as she pinned the sleeves of his shirt to the cavern floor and straddled his chest. She pulled out one more knife and held it to his throat.

"You know," he commented, "I often wonder what it is like to be one of my own victims. I may have just lived that experience. Bravo, _mademoiselle_."

She did not even smirk at him as she leaned closer to his face. "Thank you, _monsieur. _ I would give you an encore, but I really must be going. Perhaps we shall see each other again," she teased.

She was about to lower her knife to his throat when he reached up and pulled her down to his lips. As he kissed her, her heart broke free of its cage and she felt herself return from the cold side of _la Chat Noire. _Her head cleared and she saw him below her.

Erik heard the knife drop to the ground and felt her hands on either side of his face. He smiled through the kiss as he realized it had worked. Camillé was back now. She pulled away and looked down at him. That was when he saw the tears in her eyes and the look of sorrow on her face. As quickly as she could, she got up off of him – after realizing that he had freed his own arms by working her knives with his hands – and walked to the other side of the lair from him by her desk. Erik stood and picked her knives up from the floor, setting them on his organ as he walked past it.

"Camillé," he started, "we are alright. You're back now, we are both fine."

"No, Erik," she sobbed, turning to face him, "we are not both fine. She was going to kill you, Erik; _I_ was going to kill you! I am all but fine!"

He walked towards her and placed his hand on her cheek, where the tears were running freely. "Camillé, that person was not you. I know that was not you. You are nothing like that."

"But that person is a part of me, Erik. I have been that person before," she reminded him, "and I fear I will be that person again!"

"If that time should arise, I will deal with it accordingly."

"Erik, I love you. I do not want to hurt you or kill you, but she does not care! I can't control her, Erik, and I fear… I fear… that she will take you from me," she sobbed, and he pulled her into his chest.

He held her there for a long time, holding his beloved and wanting nothing more than to free her of the nightmares of her past. "_Mon cœur, _nothing – not even _la Chat Noire _– could take me from you. I will always be here with you. That I swear to you, Camillé."

"Neither of us can account for her actions, Erik. She is unstable and soulless and a monster. You are not safe while I live," she told him, and he shook his head, looking down at the now-fragile woman in his arms.

"Camillé, I am more than safe while you live. I am loved while you live and that is what makes this all worth the risk," he explained as he led her back to her bedroom and up to her bed.

She allowed him to sit her down and sit down beside her, holding her close. "But I am dangerous, Erik. She is dangerous."

"I know that she is. Trust me, I know," he remarked, holding up his hand for her to see, but refusing to let her touch it when she gasped and apologized, "It will heal. I love you, Camillé. Regardless of how dangerous you are. Though… I must ask one thing."

"What?"

"When did she first come into being? Why does she exist?"

Camillé sighed. "She exists… to exact revenge on the world."

"Why?"

"Because someone who I cared for was taken from me."

"Please explain this to me, _mon cœur. _ Let me understand her."

Camillé sighed and scooted away from Erik, turning to face him and wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Her name was _Araignée._"

* * *

_Yes, that's where I'm leaving you. What do you think of la Chat Noire now that you've met her again?_

_Any questions, comments, concerns? Concerned about Camillé? You should be._

_- Emmy_


	18. Who You Really Are

_I am going to answer reviews at the end this time._

_WARNING: This chapter is not going to be fluffy in any way, nor is it going to be pretty. This story is rated M for a reason. _

* * *

**Recap: **Camillé sighed and scooted away from Erik, turning to face him and wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Her name was _Araignée._"

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen: Who You Really Are**

Camillé stepped into the light of the room, allowing her troupe to see her. No one was surprised by this point, it was usual for _la Chat _to appear out of nowhere. She stepped over one of the bags on the floor, sitting with her legs crossed on a chair at one end of the long table they used for meetings, meals, and just generally everything. Most of the League was here, they were only missing one member. That wasn't particularly surprising either, considering it was a solid part of his reputation that he was _always _late. She sighed as the seconds ticked by on the only clock in their hideout, slowly driving her insane. Boredom colored her facial features and she pulled out one of her knives, throwing the point of it into the wooden table and pulling it out again repeatedly. She became aware of another pair of eyes on her and she looked up into the familiar green eyes of her companion.

"You know, _Chat_, you're going to ruin the table if you keep doing that," she warned her, and Camillé laughed.

"And you're going to ruin your reputation if you keep sparing lives," Wolfe growled from beside them, making _Araignée_ glance at him scathingly.

"And you are _un salopard bête_ (an idiotic bastard)," she spat, confusing the man with the French insult, seeing as he only spoke English, as they did around him.

Camillé shot them both a warning look. "If you two go at it while we're at the table, we'll have to tie you both down to your chairs, and you know I won't hesitate," she reminded them, "Now settle down. We're only waiting on _Donnola _as it is. When he shows up, we can get started and get this thing over with, and everyone can go back to their respective rooms. That particularly goes for you, Wolfe."

"You don't own me, little kitty," he sneered at her, and she smirked.

"No, but I am the one holding a weapon at the moment."

"That you don't know how to use," he retorted.

She cocked her head to the side and gave him a disbelieving expression. "How hard could it be, really?"

"To hurt me? Harder than you think."

At that moment, _Donnola _waltzed in, looking quite laid back and relaxed. He took a seat beside Wolfe – if a bit reluctantly – and _Rabe_ glared at him from the other head across the table.

"What did you do, stop for a shot on the way here?"

_Donnola _shrugged with a smirk. "I was thirsty."

Everyone narrowed their eyes at him and he backed down. The meeting commenced as normal; raised voices, a few insults thrown back and forth, and a knife or three thrown into the wall beside someone's head. Before it had finished, Camillé had agreed to go with _Rabe _on another mission in a manor on the east side of London. It was rather close to home, but their last had been all the way to the southernmost tip of the city, so they figured it would be simple to get away with. As the League broke and stood from their places, a dagger crashed through the window overlooking the rest of their hideout. Camillé and _Araignée _walked to the entrance slowly, waiting for any more noises or movement. The dagger had pierced the ceiling above _Donnola_'s head, and he pulled it out. There was a note attached to it, yet when he tried to read it, _Rabe _took it from him and began to read it aloud.

"_Well done, boy. You have managed to avoid us for two years. But now we have found you with your precious League, and we have come for you. No one leaves De Manu Mortis. Come downstairs, brother,_" he read, then stared at _Donnola_, "You were involved with _De Manu Mortis _(Latin: The Hand of Death)? And you _left_? Do you know how dangerous that is?"

"I was tired of their hierarchy. We were never really told what happened if you left – no one had done it before," he explained, and everyone groaned.

"Usually when no one's ever left, it's a pretty good sign that they don't like it when you try to," _Araignée _chuckled, finding the man's ignorance amusing.

* * *

Erik reached out and took her hand, wanting to bring some solace to his beloved.

"I had just recently reached the age of twenty one. I had been with the League for three years by then," Camillé explained, and Erik said nothing, holding her hand in silent comfort, "I cannot say we were _friends, _nor would it seem appropriate to call most of us enemies, though Wolfe didn't get along with anyone but himself. The only reason he spoke much to me was because he was teaching me to defend myself and trying to build up my strength that way. Still, we had an accord, and we would protect the others in our League.

"It was the first time I'd ever heard of _De Manu Mortis_. They are another League, much like we were, of thieves and rogues and assassins, excepting the fact that they were housed in Italy, where _Donnola _had come from. Of course, none of us knew this was coming – we never asked much about each other's pasts, we found that it was pointless to think it was important. The only one who knew about my history was _Araignée. _She had been teaching me to speak _Anglais _without an accent when I first arrived. We formed a quick bond and it stuck. She was really my only friend in the League."

* * *

"_Chat, _I'm going to need one of your knives for this," _Rabe _called, and Camillé pulled one out of her trouser pocket, throwing it to him, "Alright, _Donnola,_ I want you and _Araignée _to take the west side, I'll go with _le Chat _to the east. Wolfe... you don't need instructions."

"No," he agreed, cracking his knuckles with a smile, "I don't."

The door came open and the two groups fled to either side. Camillé stuck close to _Rabe _as he shot their assailants and she tried to knock them out to keep them from attacking her. Her lessons with Wolfe seemed to be coming in handy. She turned slightly and saw Wolfe taking care of the people in the center of the room. In an effort to keep her stomach from turning, she looked away and kept behind _Rabe_… or at least, she thought she had. One person came up in front of her and she hit them hard, punching them in the eye before raising her leg and kicking them in the gut, knocking them over. Someone grabbed her arm and she turned around, hitting the Italian in the chest with her elbow. They released her momentarily and she raised her eyes, looking for _Rabe_, but he was over in another corner, fighting three men at once. His fists flew, delivering blows left and right. There was no way he'd be coming to her aid.

She felt someone grab her about the neck, and she was in a headlock. They started shouting to their companions in Italian. Camillé instantly regretted not having learned the language from _Donnola _when she had the chance. Now, however, it was too late. The person holding her began dragging her to the other side of the room. Though she shouted and struggled, it was no use and her captor would not relinquish his hold. Then she saw that she was being dragged to the side of the room where _Araignée _and another of _De Manu Mortis _were fighting. Then her dragging was stopped and she was forced to watch her friend fight.

_Araignée _was by no means a weakling, but compared to the man she was fighting, there was no question that she was the weaker of the two. He was huge, nearly six-and-a-half feet tall, and built much like Wolfe was. The woman was getting some hits in, but not nearly enough to make a difference. The stronger of the two was obviously the man. It seemed that for every one blow _Araignée _delivered, he reciprocated with two more. Her friend was quickly tiring, but she willed for her to continue onward. She was worried for what might happen if she lost her balance or slowed for even a second.

Her will did much less than she had hoped. _Araignée_ hesitated for a fraction of a second and the man sent her tumbling backwards with a powerful blow. The woman was quickly back on her feet, preparing to fight again. Something was wrong… it looked as if the man had other intentions than to continue fighting. Her friend neared the man. Camillé wanted to yell out, wanted to do something, but was frozen as the behemoth of a man pulled a short sword from beneath his cloak. For a moment, all she could do was realize that their enemy did, indeed, wear cloaks of a deep red velvet. If Camillé hadn't have been fighting them, she might have admired their clothing choices. But that was quickly taken from her mind as the man advanced on her friend.

_Araignée _hadn't seen the sword in his hand. She hadn't registered that he had one. As she rushed at him, she wasn't anticipating its presence. Camillé couldn't breathe as she watched the sword in the man's hand quickly imbed itself in _Araignée_'s abdomen and come out the other side with a burst of blood. Her friend's expression of shock and pain made tears come to her eyes as she watched. A high-pitched, ear-bursting scream pierced the air as Camillé watched the man pull the sword out and run it into her again.

As _Araignée_ fell to her knees on the ground, she turned and looked at Camillé with a slight smile on her face. Another scream escaped Camillé, followed by frantic sobbing. Then the woman fell forwards, shoving the sword grotesquely into her stomach. The man holding Camillé placed a hand over her mouth, stopping any further noise from escaping her. She looked at the woman lying on the ground as the man kicked her over and pulled the sword from her body, causing the body that had once been her friend to spasm before falling flat, still smiling. An immense anger filled Camillé, like nothing she had ever felt, and then… nothing. Everything went calm and still. Her heart slowed and her mind cleared. All she could see was the man who had just killed _Araignée_. All she could see was him dead on the floor, as he deserved. And she would see to it that happened.

Her fingers found the knives in her trouser pocket.

Beneath the man's hand, _La Chat Noire _smiled.

* * *

"And what happened after that?"

Camillé sighed, adjusting her head's position on Erik's chest. "_La Chat_ killed every man in the group that had come for _Donnola_, save for the seven or eight that Wolfe had already taken out. Each one died methodically and in the same way that she had; enough stabs into the abdomen that they could not fight and died. A perfect replica of her death each time. Excepting the man who killed _Araignée_. He, she saved till last, and did not let him die slowly. His was painful and torturous… it sickens me to think about it now," she admitted.

"I can imagine it does," Erik agreed, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb, almost unconsciously, as he held her against his side softly.

"Once the fighting was done, she nearly killed _Donnola _as well. Thankfully, _Rabe _held her back and he was able to escape. He never would have deserved that. The scary thing is that though it sickens me, I have no regrets about the night that I became who I really am."

He gained a startled expression. "You think that this is who you –"

"Yes, Erik, this is who I really am. I suppose it helps that _Rabe _comforted me before I woke up, telling me that this is who I truly was. He was right, you know. Every time I come into a situation where someone deserves it, I simply kill them."

"_Rabe _comforted you while you were like that?"

"_Oui, _he did. _Pourquoi_?"

He frowned. Erik had made the connection, but it didn't seem possible.

"And why do you think that this is who you truly are?"

"Because _Rabe _has always told me that this was who I really am. Every time I did something murderous, he'd remind me of that."

Erik nearly choked right there, with Camillé safely snuggled in his arms. So it was true. His suspicions had been correct. Anger and grief flooded through his veins. He forced himself to calm his emotions as he kissed Camillé on top of the head, yet he stared into the distance in such a way that if a person had been there, they would have run for their life. He pulled away from his beloved, laying her down in the swan bed gently.

"Lay down, _mon cœur. _You need rest," he told her, kissing her lightly on the lips, "Thank you for telling me her story. Rest now and we can talk more when you awaken."

"_D'accord_, Erik," she agreed, yet she sounded hesitant, then added, "_Mon Amour_, is everything alright?"

"Yes, it is. I am simply worried about what you have told me. Now, you rest and we will resume this later," he sternly said, reminding her of her father yet again.

She smiled at his insistence. "_Je t'aime_, Erik."

He returned her grin, though she noticed that it did not reach as far as his eyes. "_Je t'aime aussi_, Camillé. _Bon Nuit._"

* * *

He watched her eyes close before he stepped away and walked back down the incline. His cloak was tied about his neck instantly and he was out of the surface exit to their lair. As he walked down the streets, his hand clenched about the Punjab Lasso, his eyes darkening and his pace speeding up as he thought of his one mission. No matter how far he had run, no matter how well he thought he could hide, his fate was inevitable.

_ Rabe _was going to die tonight.

* * *

_Okay... now that we've gotten that story... on to the Review!_

_Guest: Yes, they are an explosive mix... and a dangerous one. I'm glad you're excited about Camillé. She certainly is a character, isn't she?_

_KEEP REVIEWING! I love hearing from you! Seriously, it makes me very happy to hear from you guys! __Well, any questions, comments, concerns? Want to ask more questions about La Chat Noire? Want to ask her yourself? She'll speak to you if you ask!_

_- Emmy_


	19. The White Camellia

_Merry Christmas! I don't know why I'm awake at midnight on Christmas Day, but I am! So, why not post another chapter of La Chat? _

_Nibblesfan: Erik says "I do not understand why she would not be 'okay' with this. He has hurt her! He is the reason behind her losing herself! I cannot condone what he has done and I doubt that she would either if she knew what he had done. So please, do tell me why she would not be 'okay' with the ending of his life. It is best for all."_

_xBeautifullyxxShatteredx: I love your pen name! - just had to say that. You have no idea how happy it makes me that you love this story and need to read more. I always love hearing that the things that I write make people happy. Also, I am glad that you think Erik and Camillé are amazing together. Though I am intrigued... what do you mean by 'progress?'_

_I **LOVE **hearing from you guys! It makes me pleased to hear from you - and I'm glad that we have a new voice. Keep reviewing! You people are a good amount of my inspiration. Thank you so much. I have a lot planned for this story. ;) Enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen: The White Camellia**

The Phantom's feet made no sound as he travelled through the snowy streets looking for the man. He cursed himself for ever letting that man go. _Rabe _should never have been allowed to leave, the man should have died before he ever said anything to his beloved. He never should have been allowed to touch her or speak to her or even lay eyes on her. Then he had nearly pulled Camillé's mind undone and sealed his fate. The Phantom decided to implement a new strict law – no one was to touch Camillé but him. She was his, and his alone. No other insolent fop would be allowed anywhere near her.

The blood boiling in his veins pushed him around the city at a far faster pace than usual. Within a twenty minutes, he had found him. The dead man was staying in an inn near the train station, likely going to catch the train to Calais so he could sail back to his home on the morrow. What a shame that he would never arrive to the station. The Phantom walked around the back of the building, listening to the conversations inside. Most of the men were drunk and slurring, but two voices stuck out to him in particular, neither of which he enjoyed hearing.

"A fine beauty, she is," _Rabe _slurred, making the Phantom laugh.

He didn't find it surprising that the Raven was drunk. Then another, more alert voice answered the man and Erik burst through, nearly starting from shock. Why was _he_ here?

"That she is. I can only hope she's as happy as can be with that man. He'd better be treating her right and making her comfortable. I could have given her a good life."

_Rabe _snorted. "You coulda given her a better life than that thing under the Opera House can."

"_Under _the Opera House? You told me she was living _near_ it."

"Under… near… same thing. Point is, that masked freak can't give her anything, that's fer certain."

The other man cleared his throat. "I don't think he has to give her anything. I think… I think she loves him. There's no other explanation."

"Why?" _Rabe _laughed, "Why would anybody love that _thing_?"

The Phantom was close to crashing through the wall and taking that man's life right there and then, but Erik wished to hear the rest of their conversation. He knew better than they did that is was surprising for Camillé to love him. It was hard to believe, and he wouldn't have believed it himself if she hadn't been proving that she truly loved him and would stay with him for the past four months.

"I don't know. Knowing her, he's probably got a good heart – despite outward appearances and attitude," the other man chuckled.

"You know 'er better than I do, Captain," he admitted, and Erik was struck senseless.

_Since when was that boy fit to be a captain? _The men were silent for a minute more before the other spoke again.

He cleared his throat again. "Well, I'm going to turn in for the night. You're welcome to come aboard my ship – you said you were headed to England – that's a short trip. We need to make a stop in Portsmouth anyway. Her name's _The White Camellia_; she's the best ship on the sea. You can come with me and my first mate in the morning, we're docked in Le Havre. Just don't be surprised if my crew doesn't take kindly to your_ thieving _antics."

"_The White Camellia_? Sounds a lot like what ye called –"

"I know, there's a reason for that. I guess you could say that love never truly dies. You coming or not?"

"Sure, Cap'n," he chuckled, "I'll take you up on yer offer."

With that, the man stood from his seat and started walking away before he stopped – assumedly turning back to _Rabe_.

"I expect to see you down here at daybreak, Rogue," he called back, and _Rabe_ nearly laughed.

"Aye, Captain Merrick!" he shouted.

"I already told you," the captain retorted, "I go by Daniel!"

Erik was surprised to hear that he was Captain. What ship picked him up? Whoever it was, he pitied them._ Rabe _began muttering under his breath and Erik was brought back to his current mission. This man was due to die. Still, he didn't want to be seen. He'd have to play this right, and wait for the man to head up to his room. He strode around to the back of the building and snuck inside, wanting to keep himself hidden in the shadows. He snuck into the upstairs and walked silently down the hallway, going to wait at the end in the darkness. Then he heard voices in the room next to him and despite himself, listened in on their conversation.

"Daniel, with all due respect, I think you're making a mistake."

The man was silent for a moment. "What mistake are you referring to?"

"I know that you've been a good captain for these past few months – every one of the crew members respects you, and I think some of them would follow you to the ends of the Earth after that encounter with the _Juggernaut_, but Captain… you're makin' a mistake letting a rogue on board _the Camellia_. We're merchants, not pirates! We're trying to stay away from that crowd."

"What gave you the impression that I was _letting _a rogue on board my ship?"

"You just spoke to the man! You told him that he could come with us back to Le Havre! You're offering refuge to a thief!"

Daniel simply chuckled. "Jacob, you're a good man. You've got a good set of morals and you stick to them. I knew I wouldn't regret making you first mate," he told him, then sighed, "I'm not offering him refuge. I plan to turn him in. There's a bounty on his head back home – I'm simply going to deliver him. Once we get underway, I want the men to take him under to the brig. We'll hold him 'till we get to Portsmouth. The soldiers can take him to London from there."

"Then what?"

"What happens to him in London is none of our concern. They could hang him, for all I care – they probably will. Good riddance. If I had my way, I'd run him through before we even leave Paris."

The first mate, Jacob, was silent for a few seconds. "You alright, Captain? You don't sound like yourself."

Daniel sighed heavily. "He knows her."

"Her? Which her are you – _oh. _ _That _her."

"Yes, _that _her. The only her that ever matters to me."

"So? What's so bad about him knowing her?"

"He's the one that tried to take her, back when she was mine. He probably doesn't remember me – all the better, if I'm honest. But that man – no, that _monster _in the inn is the one that tried to… rape her. And from what he told me, he tried to again just a few hours ago," the captain growled through clenched teeth, and the pounding of a fist on wood sounded through the room, "I want to kill that monster. I want him to die by my hands for what he's done. He never should have_ touched _her."

Erik stayed silent as he heard the young boy who had tried to take Camillé from him voicing his own thoughts back at him. It had never been so obvious to him before that Daniel really did love her. Now, it shone as plain as day that the boy loved her far more than he had ever realized. He had thought that because he did not notice her hesitation that he did not truly love her, but now it was clear that that presumption was wrong. Very wrong. This boy was no boy, but a man willing to protect her with his life. They were in the same boat now.

The first mate let the silence fall for a good few minutes before he said anything. "Then are you sure that we _can _do this, Captain. If you want to kill him, can you trust yourself not to do it before we get across the channel?"

"That's what I'm hoping. He deserves whatever happens to him in London and more."

"Captain… forgive me for sayin' this, but I don't think you'll last the day it takes to cross the channel. If the man did what you say he did, I fear you'll kill him afore England ever comes in sight."

"I'll last."

"How?"

Daniel let out a long breath. "It's what she would want me to do."

"The man tried to rape her! Why would she want you to show him mercy by lettin' him live?"

"Because, Jacob, it would be mercy to kill him. Wouldn't it be better to be killed quickly than locked in prison for the rest of your life? I intend to give him to the people who want him locked away for eternity. I hope he spends the rest of his life wallowing in a pit of regret. The man deserves it."

Erik thought over what he had said. Yes, he wanted the man dead more than anything, but in truth – as much as he _hated _to admit it – Daniel was right. It would be a far worse torture to have his freedom taken from him for the rest of his life than to have it ended quickly. Even if Erik let him slowly choke to death, there would still be a reprieve from the torture, and much sooner than if he was locked away. It was hard to admit, but the man had a point. And he was correct in another aspect – it was what Camillé would want. She would want him locked away forever for his sins. _La Chat Noire _would kill him instantly, in the most poignant way she saw possible, but Camillé would not. She would lock him away with his conscience and leave him to rot in prison.

Erik looked up and watched the first mate leaving the room to head to his own. In a split second decision, he stopped the closing door and leaned against the doorframe. Daniel had his back to him, washing his hands and face in the wash basin on the other side of the room. He watched as the other man very methodically dried off his fingers.

"So how is she?" the captain asked suddenly, and Erik cocked his head to the side, saying nothing, "I was with Camillé for a year, I learned the signs of someone silent in the room. She taught me well."

The man turned around and Erik saw that in these past months, he had grown from the boy at his feet. He had a small goatee and a thin moustache on only his upper lip. His light brown hair was longer, its natural curl showing though it was pulled back behind his head. Daniel looked stronger and less like the weak puppy dog that had told Camillé he loved her six months ago in July. The two locked eyes and stood in a staring battle of wills, fiery blue against hard, tan brown.

"Again, how is she?" Daniel asked, most certainly not intimidated.

"She is fine," he told him, teeth gritted.

The man put down the towel and walked towards the table, sat down and offered Erik a seat which he did not take. "So what exactly does fine mean? Is she happy?"

"As far as I can tell."

"Does she love you?" he asked in a slightly quieter voice, though with no less conviction.

Erik was silent for a moment. "Yes, I believe so. She tells me that she is perfectly happy and deeply in love. She claims to want for nothing but my company."

"And do you love her?"

"More than life itself."

Daniel nodded with a gentle, melancholy smile. "Now… since I am certain you aren't here for me, what do you intend to do to him?"

"What do you mean?"

He scoffed. "I'm not dumb. You're here for the rogue."

Erik crossed his arms and stood tall. "I intend to kill him."

Instead of being frightened, the captain only laughed. "That I have no doubt of. Were it not for my own plans, I would willingly assist you with that. Unfortunately, you and I both know that is not what Camillé would want."

"I do not see why she would not."

"There's a far worse punishment in store for him if I take him to Portsmouth across the channel. There's a hefty bounty on that man's head and at the least, a life sentence to prison. I intend to take him aboard my ship and deliver him. She would think it better to imprison him until he dies than to kill him quickly. If it weren't for this, he would be dead already at the end of my blade."

"And how does this concern me?"

"You intend to kill him now; that puts a mighty large wrench in my plan. I propose a deal. If you will spare his life tonight, I will see to it he gets what he deserves," Daniel offered, standing to face him.

"He deserves to die."

"And he will – after he spends the rest of his miserable life rotting in a cell."

Erik narrowed his eyes. "Why should I trust you?"

Daniel held his gaze. "Because I love her as much as you do."

* * *

_So... the return of the Daniel. And he's a Captain now? What?_

_Any questions, comments, concerns? Want to talk to the characters? Ask them anything, they'll reply to you!_

_- Emmy_


	20. His Fate

_Wow... this is chapter twenty! I'm almost frightened. _

_Nibblesfan: "That fop knows too much of Camillé. He may have been in love with her once, but his knowledge of her bothers me. She is my beloved. No other man should know her as well as I do. To think that he does... it simply bothers me. Regardless, he had a good point when bringing up his deal..." - Erik_

_xBeautifullyxxShatteredx: Yes, they are going to progress in that part of their relationship. Everything between them will be shared in time, I promise. They're just so... stubborn. And secretive. They bother me so much, and they know it, too. (Erik and Camillé look in opposite directions as if to say "Who, us?") Yes, you. And uh... Erik disagrees with you about the whole 'letting him go' thing. He's complaining. _

_Thank you for reviewing! I love hearing from you guys! Anyway, without further ado, here is chapter twenty! Enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty: His Fate**

Erik sighed as he looked down at Camillé's still sleeping form. She would be proud of him, he knew. But he sorely wished that he had ignored Daniel and taken _Rabe_'s life anyway. The man deserved to die. At least he was fairly certain that he could trust the captain of the_ White Camellia_. He had provided a very convincing argument, and one could not refute love. Again, he sighed as he adjusted his position on the edge of her bed.

His fingers brushed a few stray hairs away from her face as she slept. She was so beautiful… why had she chosen him? _Rabe _was right, what did he have to offer her? He could not give her a good life. They would have to stay trapped beneath the Opera House forever, he could never leave. Why would she want to live here, trapped like a caged animal? She was beautiful and wonderful, so different from himself. Excepting in _la Chat_, but she was no longer in danger from her. That part of her, so long as _Rabe _never escaped from his prison, would never bother her again. Now, she was truly free. Free from the binds of her past and the dangers of her world. She could go where she pleased, Erik didn't want to be holding her back.

Yet… she had told him that she wanted to stay here. That she loved him and didn't want to leave him. They'd spoken about this many times in the past and each time, she had ended the conversation by telling him that she wasn't going anywhere. He liked the idea of her staying forever. It was no secret that he would pledge himself to her for the rest of both their lives, he had already alluded to future marriage. They were in such bliss… yes, there were troubles, and yes, there were issues, but they had worked them out, no matter how long it took. His mother had been wrong. He could be loved. And he was loved.

Camillé began to stir and he smiled, seeing the innocent expression on her face that turned into something less beautiful and more adorable. Of course, she would probably kill him for calling her adorable, and he had totally forgotten that word was even in his vocabulary since he used it so little. But truly, when she stretched and woke up, she was just adorable. Then she emitted a sound that was partially akin to a squeal and partially akin to a meow. Whatever it was, it was a contented sound, because she smiled and opened her eyes, looking at him with love.

"_Bon matin, mon amour_ (Good morning, my love)," she sighed as she sat up.

He took one of her hands in his and kissed it, making her grin. "_Bon matin, mon cœur _(Good morning, my heart)."

She stretched again. "So… what are we doing today, Erik? By the way, _Noël _is in only six days and you _still _have not told me what you want. How am I supposed to get you a gift if you refuse to give me ideas?"

"Camillé, we have discussed this. I have everything I want," he told her, and she rolled her eyes, smiling.

"Again with the sweet, yet over-used concepts. Surely you cannot be completely content."

Erik pulled her towards him and tipped her chin up, gripping it in his left hand. "With you, I could be content with nothing," he retorted, before kissing her gently.

She pulled away, resting her hands on his shoulders. "You, _monsieur _O.G., are the most amusing man I may have ever met."

"How so?" he asked as he pulled her to her feet, with his visible eyebrow quirked upwards.

Camillé laughed. "Just everything about you is amusing. It would be too difficult to name one particular thing."

He scoffed and let her go when she moved to change into her clothing. Erik turned and walked back down the incline, wondering what in the world could be amusing about _him_. It wasn't very good for his persona to be amusing. _Le Fantôme de l'Opéra _was supposed to be intimidating and mysterious, not amusing. Granted, he wasn't supposed to be deeply and completely in love, either. Yet here he was, all of the things he was not supposed to be. All because of a young woman who had stepped into his life in the most unusual way and wiggled her way into his heart before he even knew it was happening.

A familiar pair of arms wrapped around his waist and he turned around, encircling the small woman in his arms. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She hummed slightly and pulled him closer, laying her head on his chest. They stood like that for a few moments, simply enjoying the feeling of being near each other.

"Are you hungry, _mon cœur_?" he asked, pulling away from her with his hands on her arms.

She shook her head. "Not particularly," she answered, before looking around and seeing the knives atop the organ, "Oh… Erik, I want to apologize for the way I acted last night. I –"

"You were not in control, Camillé," he assured her, turning her head towards him, "That was not your fault, it was _Rabe's_."

"What?"

Erik sat her gently down on the organ bench. "Camillé, _Rabe _was controlling you."

"How? Is that even possible?"

"I have seen it done by scientists before, and yes, it is possible. He found a way to keep _la Chat _under control with a simple phrase. It had been done with animals before, where a certain command unleashes a totally different side of the creature. With you, he used the phrase you were so used to hearing from him," he hissed, closing his eyes, "He controlled your mind, Camillé."

Camillé's eyes widened and her mouth opened in shock. "You mean… his phrase… who I really… how? Erik, how could he do this? How could he control my mind, and _why_?"

"I do not know, though I assume he wanted to control _la Chat _for his own purposes. All I know is that he has done it and _that _is why _la Chat _exists so separate from yourself."

Camillé nodded, silent for a moment. "Erik, what became of _Rabe_?"

He froze, then sighed. "Camillé, I have something I must tell you."

"What do you mean?"

"By now, I assume Rabe has met his destiny. Whether or not he knows it is a different story."

"Erik, you… he is alive, is he not? You did not… hurt him, did you?"

"Camillé, I swear," he started, kneeling down before her, "as much as that horrible man deserves it, I did nothing to him."

Then she sighed, one eyebrow raised and her head tilted to the side. "So you did not kill him?"

"Do not look so surprised, _mon cœur_," Erik dead-panned, "I am not as cruel as they make me seem."

Camillé smiled sheepishly and pulled her down to him, kissing him softly. "I know. _Je suis désolé, mon amour. _ I know better than anyone that you are not cruel in the least."

He nodded. "_Merci. _ But as much as he deserves to die, _Rabe_ is alive, and hopefully by now on his way to his fate."

"And what would that fate be?"

"A ship has agreed to give him passage to _Angleterre_, and intend to turn him in once they arrive in Portsmouth. I made a deal with the captain and I assure you, that man will get what he deserves. When they arrive, he will be taken to London where he will face justice for his crimes."

Camillé cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. "Who is the very gracious captain who we have to thank for this?"

Erik cringed. "I would really prefer not to –"

"Come now, tell me who it was. I am not acquainted with any sea captains, so there is no chance that I'll know him. I simply want to know who it was so I know who to thank," she pressed, her hand resting lightly against his chest, "Please, Erik?"

He sighed and gave in to her deep brown eyes. "_D'accord, _if you are truly so eager to know. You do know him. His name is _Captain _Daniel Merrick of the _White Camellia_."

Her mouth dropped open and she gaped at him. "Daniel is a _captain_? When did that happen?"

Erik shrugged and shook his head. "I do not know. Apparently he is a good captain, though, and his crew is loyal to him. He gained the _White Camellia, _a merchant ship,after a sea battle with the _Juggernaut _– that, _mon cœur_, is a pirate ship –killed the previous one. From what he tells, the captain of the _Juggernaut _ran their captain through in a battle, and then was killed in a duel with Daniel. The way he related the tale, it sounds far less glorious than the way the crew members think of him."

"The _White Camellia_?" she asked, incredulous.

A dark look came over his face and he cleared his throat. "After he gained the ship, he renamed her. It was once called the _Trusty Peddler_."

Camillé made a face. "The _Trusty Peddler? _There was actually a ship named that?"

"Apparently, but now it has been renamed by a man too far in love with a woman he _cannot_ have."

"Erik," she warned, and his shoulders dropped, "do not hold his love for me against him."

"Why should I not?" he grumbled, pulling away and turning from her, "He would take you from me if he could, I know that he would. I do not want him to continue loving you, Camillé. I do not completely trust the man."

She crossed her arms and glared at the back of his head. "And do you think he trusts you?"

Her love turned back to her and mimicked her posture. "What do you mean?"

"Do you honestly think that Daniel trusts you to keep me safe and make me happy? No, he doesn't. I know him well enough that I _know _he doesn't. But does he hold your love for me against you? No, I bet you he doesn't. What did he tell you when you talked to him?"

Erik cocked his head to one side. "How did you know I spoke to him for any length of time?"

Camillé rolled her eyes. "If I know Daniel at all, I know that he asked after me and that the two of you talked. What did he ask of you, and what did he tell you?"

"He asked if you were happy. He also asked if you loved me and I loved you."

"And what did you tell him?"

He gazed into her eyes. "I said that you had told me that you were happy, and that you claim to love me. And I told him that I love you more than life itself."

She smiled and stepped back up to him, taking his hands in hers. "Then there is nothing to worry about. He knows that we are in love and I am happy. Daniel loves me enough to want me to be happy, even if that happiness does not come from him."

"Camillé, I cannot possibly –"

"I know that you cannot trust him. But Erik, if I am still here and content, he will know that I would prefer to stay here. That I want to stay with you, and that I love you. Trust in that, Erik. If he does not hold the same against you, do not hold his love for me against him."

Erik let out a breath of reluctant acceptance and rested his forehead against hers. "I shall try, _mon cœur_, for you," he muttered, then kissed her forehead gently, "You do know that I love you more than anything? It would destroy me to lose you."

She pushed his head away and rested her hand on his cheek. Their eyes locked and she smiled, gazing deep into his beautiful blue eyes. Camillé leaned up and kissed him softly.

"Nothing could ever take me from you. I will always be here with you. That I swear to you, Erik," she whispered against his lips, quoting his own words from the day before, "_J'ai t'aime toujours, et je t'aimerais toujours _(I have loved you always, and I will love you always)," she told him, kissing him again before looking back into his eyes, "I am yours, Erik."

"_Je t'aime aussi, plus que la vie elle-même_ (I love you too, more than life itself)," Erik muttered, placing his lips against her cheek, "I am yours, just as you are mine."

* * *

_Oh mon Dieu (Oh my God), this is the twentieth chapter... and I'm not anywhere close to done with this story. I do hope you know that this is likely going to be my longest story ever, right? I've never written anything that went over twenty chapters without ending a few chapters later. _

_Any questions, comments, concerns? Want to talk to the characters? They'll talk to you as much as I will!_

_- Emmy_


	21. Joyaux Noël

_Reviews!_

_Nibblesfan: Yes, they are cute, aren't they? And they weren't fated to be in trouble forever._

_And now we start the fluff! I love hearing from you guys, so please - continue reviewing! Enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One: _Joyaux Noël_**

Erik watched as Camillé stepped down the incline, sauntering down the stones with swaying hips and a mischievous grin on her face. He raised an eyebrow at her expression, a smirk slowly forming on his own. She was obviously planning something… or hiding something from him. As his eyes travelled down her arms, he could tell that she was holding something back from him. That was quite silly of her – nothing could be hidden from him, particularly when it was _her _hiding it. Surely by now she had learned better, though he was not complaining. His ways of getting things from her were _quite _enjoyable.

He turned back to his organ and his eyes travelled to his discarded porcelain mask. It was a reminder of just one of the many reasons he loved her – she loved him entirely, without restraint. That was something he would not trade for the world itself. She walked around behind him and wrapped one arm around his shoulders. Her lips brushed his cheek and pressed a kiss to it before kissing his temple. Erik leaned into the touch and turned his head with the intent to kiss her fully. Then her hand grasped his chin and turned his head away from her. His eyebrows raised in amused surprise as she pressed another kiss to the side of his face.

"_Joyaux Noël, mon amour,_" Camillé whispered against his ear.

Then she brought her other arm in front of his face, holding a suspicious black box with pristine white ribbon wrapped around it and tied in a bow. Erik smiled before getting up from his bench, sliding out from behind it and going towards his storage closet behind the small red curtain. He pulled out another couple of small boxes and walked back over to her. The two presents were held out to her, one in each hand. She smiled as she took them from him and placed her present in his hands. Then she got on her tiptoes and kissed him. Erik let his present switch to one hand as the other arm wrapped around her small frame and placed a hand at the small of her back. He felt her smile through the kiss and he pulled away.

"_Joyaux Noël, mon cœur," _he responded, pulling her by the hand back up to her bedroom, where they sat on the bed as they had done a thousand times before.

Camillé crossed her legs and grinned up at him as he sat down across from her. It seemed that they always sat like this, with Erik sitting at the head of the swan bed and Camillé sitting somewhere in the middle with her legs crossed. He returned her smile and nodded at her presents.

"Open them first," he told her, and she shook her head.

"I think you ought to open yours first," she retorted.

Erik cocked his head sideways at her. "Oh, really?" he asked, and she nodded, "Alright then."

He tugged gently on the ribbon, untying the bow and releasing the binding around the box. Then he lightly lifted the top of the box, setting it to the side as he pulled out the rectangular… book? Yes, it was a book. He unwrapped the paper around it and felt the soft leather binding beneath his fingertips. He read the embossed silver lettering on the front of the book as he grazed his fingers over it; _Book of Shadows. _One of his eyebrows raised as he looked up at her, only greeted by a shrug and a smile. The book made no sound, but silently protested as he opened it to the first page.

_'For my beloved savior in the shadows.'_

Erik smirked as he looked up at her. "'Savior in the shadows?'" he questioned.

"Well, it _is _true," Camillé defended, shrugging again.

He merely shook his head with a smile as he turned his attention back to the book. The next page was turned and he read over the words before his eyes widened in realization. Then he turned the page… and the next page, and the next. Finally he looked up at her with widened eyes and a shocked expression on his face.

"Camillé, this is… are you truthfully giving me…"

"Yes, Erik," she responded with a gentle smile, "this is a book of my poetry. And yes, I am giving this to you. It contains all of my poetry since I came here. Not a single poem was left out. Not even the ones about you," she said with a small twinge of embarrassment.

He grinned at her and leaned over to kiss her gently. "There is no need to feel embarrassed, _mon cœur_."

"If you say so. So… do you like it?"

"Camillé, I more than simply like it. This is truthfully the most thoughtful gift you could have given me, and that you are willing to give me your poetry is truly a testament to your trust in me," he told her, looking over another poem in her book and skimming his eyes across the familiar words of _Réalité _with a smile.

She grinned and rocked back and forth, holding her knees like a child. "Look at the last page," she told him, and he did so.

His smile broadened as he saw the title. He read the poem slowly, savoring every word. In bliss, his eyes closed before he looked up at his beloved. She gently smiled at him, gazing into his eyes with pure adoration and love. Erik laid the book to the side as he pulled her to him and kissed her passionately. For the moment, the presents were forgotten as they wrapped their arms around each other and enjoyed the feeling of being completely enraptured in love.

* * *

_'Somewhere Deep_

_Somewhere deep inside my heart,  
__Past the pain and scars and fear,  
__Nestled safe behind walls of dark:  
__My love for you is beating here._

_The only light in deepest shade,  
__It warms my life in such sweet ways.  
__With you, and only you, I am safe,  
__And shall be so for all my days._

_You saved me from the violent sea  
__That was my life before you came.  
__You lit my world, cast back the waves,  
__With one simple utterance of my name._

_My trust is something hard to earn,  
__Yet I gave it up so willingly  
__In return for true love from a man  
__Who risked his own life to save me._

_Somewhere deep inside my heart,  
__Forever is where you shall reside  
__And all my love I give to you  
__For you have bewitched me, heart and mind._

_And I leave you with these final words;  
__J'ai t'aime toujours, et je t'aimerais toujours.'_

* * *

Camillé sighed with a content moan as Erik finally pulled away from her. She smiled with closed eyes as they regained their breath. Her breathing hitched again as he pressed his lips to her jaw and kissed her lightly there. Then her hands went to his shirt and she pulled him closer still, pressing the two together. Abruptly, Erik stopped kissing her and sat up, backing off of her. She reflected for a second that she was much colder without him before she sat up and propped herself up on her elbows.

"What is wrong, _mon amour_?" she asked, and he smiled down at her.

"Nothing is wrong, you merely need to open your presents," he replied, and she cocked her head to the side.

She huffed. "But I was quite enjoying that."

A wide grin spread across his face. "As was I, but you have presents to open, Camillé."

She rolled her eyes like a child and sat up completely, picking up her first present, the longer of the two boxes. The lid was lifted carefully and she spied the present inside. A breath escaped without her knowledge and she looked up at Erik. All he did was smile and stand, moving behind her before kneeling again. He gently removed the necklace from the box and clasped it behind her, gently brushing his fingers against the skin of her neck. She shivered as she looked down at the beautiful pendant. The chain it was hanging on was silver, the clasp for the pendant itself made of the same metal. The rounded, shining moonstone hanging from it was almost ethereal in the candlelight. Camillé reached up and gently touched the pendant, marveling at its beauty.

"Erik… it… it is truly beautiful. Where did you find it, I have not found –"

He silenced her with a finger to her lips and a kiss to the side of her neck. "I will not tell you where I found it. I cannot have you buying these things for yourself – I intend to spoil you with these things. Let me enjoy spoiling you, _mon cœur_," he whispered, causing her to scoff slightly and he smiled against her neck. He pressed another kiss to it before kissing beside her ear. "Open the other box."

Her hand reached out and she grabbed hold of the smaller present, Erik's hands on her arms. She opened the hinged lid carefully before letting it snap closed. Her eyes widened and she stared at the box for a moment. He reached out and opened it for her, letting the ring glow in the light. Camillé leaned against his chest and let a breath escape her. His nimble fingers slipped the ring from  
the box and let it snap shut again, setting it to the side as he picked up her right hand.

"This ring is not to ask for your hand, Camillé," he assured her, and she relaxed slightly, "It is from me to you; to remind you."

"To remind me of what?"

He turned her towards him and slipped the ring on the ring finger of her right hand. It was a beautiful piece of jewelry, made with intertwining silver bands. The teardrop shaped stone on the center fit her hand perfectly, of the same stone as her necklace. She looked up from it and into his eyes, quickly becoming lost in the blue depths of the ocean there. He was still kneeling before her and took both of her hands into his.

"If I cannot have your hand in marriage now, then I shall settle for this," he said with a soft voice, "Camillé, I promise to you that for all of my life and even after I have left this world, I will love you. I promise that I will be there when you need me and protect you from all that threatens to harm you – with little exceptions, for I know that you _can _protect yourself," he added with a wink, making her chuckle lightly, "You are my world, and I promise that I will remind you of this every day of your life. I promise to never leave you and that my heart lies with you, and only you, forever. I love and adore you, Camillé. All of this, I promise you," he told her, and kissed the ring lightly, "This ring is to remind you of that promise."

She smiled up at him. "I don't think I could forget that promise if I tried," she beamed, and pulled his head down to hers.

Their lips met in a passionate kiss. They held to each other tightly, as if afraid that loosening their grip would cause the other to disappear. His lips pressed to hers eagerly, as if being away from them was a sin. She smiled against his lips and pulled her head away slightly.

"How did I _ever _be so lucky as to find you?"

He shook his head and grinned. "I do not know… nor do I know how I could have possibly been so blessed as to have you stumble into my home."

They laughed together and kissed again, their happiness enveloping them both in a warm glow. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and they stayed in that position for quite a long time, relishing their love and being together. Slowly, Erik pulled away and leaned his forehead against hers.

"Erik, _je t'aime_," she mentioned, and he smiled.

"_Je t'aime, _Camillé," he told her, before standing up and telling her to stay there.

* * *

He left for a short time into town, to get another part of her present. When he returned, he had a fair amount of snow on his shoulders and his hands wrapped around a package and… something else that she could not discern. She stood instantly and rushed over to him. Camillé took the package from him, setting it down on the organ. He looked up at her with worried expression as he held out the other thing in his hands. She gasped as she gently took it from him and cradled it in her arms. It mewed slightly as she held it close to her heart.

Erik explained that he had gone out to get some leather bound notebooks – the other part of her present, meant for her poetry. It was bitterly cold, and it was only because he was more adept at dealing with cold that he made it there without freezing. He had been in the back of the store retrieving what he wanted and laying down the money for it when he heard something meow. Quickly, he had turned around, only to find a beautiful pair of light blue eyes looking back at him pleadingly. The creature meowed again and he had left it, only for the kitten to follow him out of the store and into the icy weather. When it had meowed ever so pathetically, he had turned around. The kitten had gotten stuck in the snow and was begging him to save it. The way it looked at him pulled at his heartstrings, so he had picked up the fuzzy creature and taken it back home with him.

Camillé looked down at the kitten while he explained. She was quite an adorable Siamese, with soft cream fur on most of her body and warm brown paws and face. It was fortunate that Erik had saved the little creature, it would have died out there in the snow. She petted her head lightly and the kitten purred. The sound alone warmed Camillé's heart and she looked up at Erik with a pitiful expression as she sat down on the organ bench. He knew that look, and sighed.

"Why?" he asked, and she pouted.

"Look at her, Erik," she pleaded, "She's so small… she would die out there on her own. Please?"

He rubbed the place between his eyes. "Do we really have space for a cat?"

She gave him a half-serious glare. "She is _tiny_. She won't take up that much room."

They glared into each other's eyes in a battle of wills. In the end, a pathetic meow from the bundle of fur in Camillé's hands ended the argument.

"Fine," Erik sighed, slouching slightly and sitting down beside her, "We can keep her."

"Thank you, _mon amour,_" Camillé smiled and looked down at the kitten, petting it gently, "What should we name her?"

They thought for a minute. A few bad names were suggested and denied – Treble (sounded too much like Trouble), Athena (Goddess of Hunting didn't seem right), Cinnamon (no animal should be named after food), the like – before they finally found one that worked. Erik had been thinking through names good for an animal and remembered his horse, Caesar, back in the stables. After a minute of thinking on the lines of ancient individuals, he ran across the story of Ayesha. It had been the name of a Timurid princess he had heard spoken of often during his time in Persia. When he suggested it, the kitten had looked up at him and meowed, purring very loudly. Camillé laughed and announced that if the cat liked it, then the cat should have it.

* * *

They relaxed on the bed not much later, the kitten between them as they lay facing each other. Erik was petting Ayesha slowly and softly, for which she purred. Camillé smiled and looked up in Erik's eyes.

"You are very gentle with her," she whispered, and he smiled, still looking at the cat.

"I suppose I am. That should not surprise you," he mentioned.

She chuckled lightly. "No, I suppose it doesn't. You are gentle with me, after all. Sometimes, I swear you are _too _gentle with me."

He looked up into her eyes and leaned closer to her, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Be careful what you wish for, _mon cœur_."

_I think Erik is insinuating something, don't you? Oh, and by the way, three days late: HAPPY NEW YEAR!_

_Any questions, comments, concerns? I love hearing from you guys, and so do Camillé and Erik!_

_- Emmy_


End file.
